


Cesario's Luck

by tricksterlovegodling



Category: SHAKESPEARE William - Works, Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: Canon Non-Binary Character, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Gender-Fluid Character, Genderfluid Character, Happy Ending, Just enough to piss off purists, Minor canon divergence, Period Typical Attitudes, Pre-Canon, Viola/Orsino smutt, after act V, is non-consensual autoeroticism a thing?, upstairs/downstairs dynamics done badly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 21:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18374744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricksterlovegodling/pseuds/tricksterlovegodling
Summary: In 3 days Cesario was already no stranger to the very touchy-feely Orsino. When the sea captain brought the boy to work for the Duke,though, the house staff didn't think much of Cesario. But as he became the best at managing Orsino's moods, Cesario won a place with them. No one imagines the boy has secrets, or knows he's lost a twin recently. In dealing with his grief, though, maybe not only Sebastian was lost.Cesario is a messenger to lady Olivia from Orsino, she falls in love with the boy and tries to win him over. Cesario himself is too afraid to make his secret known to accept love be it from Olivia or his master.





	Cesario's Luck

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be only 3k words long but I got too excited. Also excuse all references to classics it just happened.

The sea captain took Cesario to the Duke’s house and introduced him to a man named Valentine, who said they might have work for the boy and sugested they should talk to Curio, the Duke’s right hand.  
Now, that’s the man in charge, Cesario thought to himself seeing the man. Curio carried himself with dignity and spoke to others in confident, busy manner. He asked Cesario about his name, origins, and business in Illyria, and wasn’t impressed at his survival of a shipwreck. But eventually said: “I think we do have work for you in this house, boy. Consider it your lucky day.”  
Right then a servant came in to anounce the Duke sent for him. “I hope you know how to behave before your betters, boy. Let's show you to your new master.”  
“Do you enjoy poetry, boy?” Valentine asked with a smile on his face, like he was telling a joke Cesario wasn’t aware of. “Oh, poetry days are the worst!” Curio complained as they trudged along a hallway. “When is it going to be hunting again?”  
“Yesterday was music,” Valentine comented as if he was explaining something to the new comer. “Music isn’t so bad.”  
“Anything is bad in excess, and if I'm not mistaken his plan was to die of music” Curio argued.  
“Can one really die of music?” Cesario entered the conversation. “I think it’s been proved the answer is no,” Valentine said. “I sure wished I could” Curio volunteered.  
Valentine was right: when they got to the Duke, he had ink on his fingers and paper in his hands. He explained that was a poem he'd been working on since early hours when he'd given up sleep. He recited anguished verses of denied love and all consuming passion. Cesario knew they reminded him of something but he wasn’t sure what.  
“So what do you think?” the Duke asked to a very awkward Curio and an absolutely bored Valentine.  
“My lord’s a learned man,” was Curio's praise. “A man of many talents indeed.”  
“Flawless metric, my lord,” Valentine joined in, clearly running his mind for more poetry lingo.  
“Hardly,” Duke Orsino admited, “too many liberties were taken.”  
“Really, it doesn't show.” It was very clear in the Duke’s eyes he had just now realized his men didn’t share his love of poetry.  
Seeing he was the only one left who'd said nothing about the rhymes, Cesario gave his own insight: “I think it sounds like Ovideo. I was trying to understand why it sounds so familiar, and I think it's because of Ovideo.”  
“I confess I have been reading lately, but this is a completely different style,” the Duke objected.  
“I can see that, but aren't those his same metaphors and paralels?” Cesario debated.  
For a second time in a very short period, a look of disapointment took over Orsino’s face. “Now that you mention...” said the Duke lost in thought. He ripped the paper twice before deciding on crumpling it. All three expectators were shocked.  
“It wasn’t bad, my lord,” Cesario protested too late. “It wasn’t mine,” the Duke declared proudly.  
“Didn’t you go through all the trouble of writing it?” the boy argued. “I did, but someone had already done it, and much better,” Orsino explained.  
“So you feel as strongly as one of the greatest, is that a bad thing. If we must emulate another, isn't it best to be someone great?” Cesario went on defending the lost poem.  
This time Orsino looked atentively at the boy before asking: “And who are you?”  
Curio told the Duke about taking Cesario in and his recomendation from the sea captain. Orsino was satisfied by it and told Valentine to see that the boy was fed and lodged. As they made their way to the kitchen, Valentine comented: “I can't decide if you’re too dumb or too smart, but whatever you are, you didn’t have to say anything back there. Why didn’t you just go along with it?”  
“Didn’t I go along?” Cesario was confused. “Weren’t we suposed to give insight on the poem?”  
“You were suposed to like it” he corrected. “Your words made him destroy his stupid poem.” “Why are you so ofended? You didn’t even like it,” Cesario retorted, very insecure about the acusations.  
“Did you like it?” Valentine snorted. “Of course, it was so passionate,” the boy advocated.  
“So let's go through what's passed,” Valentine lectured. “I didn’t like it and nothing happened. You thought it was 'so passionate',” here he made a short impression of an unnaturally feminine boy, “and got him to destroy his poem. Now, how do you think this came to be?”  
After that Cesario worried he was off to a bad start. His hope the Duke had enjoyed talking about poetry faded the more he listened to Valentine. In the evening however Orsino sent for him.  
“Since we discussed poetry earlier, I believe it’s fair to assume you can read,” the Duke stated. “I can, my lord,” Cesario was quick to answer. “Good.” He handed Cesario a poetry book opened to a marked page. “Read us some.”  
Cesario worked the best performance of his life. He gesticulated, and changed intonations as he felt necessary. By the time he'd finished the first poem, Orsino was aplauding. “Very good! Let’s hear another,” the Duke ordered.  
Cesario began the second poem with even more enthusiasm than the first. A little thirsty but he could get around that. He was going fine until - - what was that? He couldn’t make sense of that verse. Did it mean anything? And how do you act out meaningless verses? He knew each one of those words and still it didn’t make sense. Of course poetry not always had to make much sense but still...  
“What’s the matter, boy?” the Duke’s voice had a slight hint of anoyance to it. “I’m lost,” Cesario confessed. “Please, look at this,” the boy brought him the book. “I just don't understand. Does this mean anything?”  
“Isn’t it enough sometimes that it sounds well?” questioned the Duke without looking. He wasn’t amused by the interruption. Rats! It was just like Valentine had pointed out: he couldn’t do what was asked, not in direct manner at least.  
“I supose it is enough sometimes to get lost in sounds, but how can I make it sound well if I don't know what I'm saying?”  
“Fair enough,” the Duke sighed heavily, taking the book. He looked for the verse and frowned. He eyed Cesario very quickly, then went back to the poem. The boy already regreted his actions. Orsino didn’t look like he understood it better than the boy, and probably wouldn’t enjoy having to admit to that. There had to be a graceful way of solving this.  
Orsino was chuckling, still looking at the book. Maybe he’s got it, maybe he’s chuckling because it’s funny. Then he started laughing, and his eyes were tearing up. “How’s that even possible?” he lifted his face towards Cesario and looked very amused now. “I’ve loved these poems for so long and never saw it”.  
“Maybe it's because you love it so much, master,” Cesario came to this conclusion as he spoke. “We often overlook faults in our loved ones”.  
This brought a new round of laughter to Orsino. His eyes sparkled with enjoyment when he asked: “So you believe the fault is in the text, not the readers?”  
That was arrogant of him, now the Duke said it he realized. But he couldn’t completely give up this possibility. “I supose we could both have daydreamed during this same lesson, but I don’t think that’s it,” the boy admited.  
Orsino laughed some more. “I find that quite possible, if I remember well my days as a student. How about you, Cesario?” Something stired in his heart hearing his master say his name in such a friendly manner. Names had power to them, the boy knew. But the master had asked a question. “I’m guilty of much daydreaming, and I do try to make up for it when I'm awake, but guilty no doubt,” he confessed. “Teachers have little tolerance for that” Orsino reminisced. “Mine never noticed me much, so it got me in less trouble than it should’ve.”  
It was no invention. Sebastian had always been the focus of every teacher they’d ever had. Only twice Viola got to shine in all those years of lessons, and it was always quickly taken away from her when her brilliance was at its best a subterfuge to shame Sebastian into working harder, in a way that she was made to feel inferior no matter how hard she tried to prove herself and Sebastian would hate her for making things harder for him in comparisson. No way Cesario would ever let those people notice him. And they never did.  
“Are you daydreaming right now?” Orsino wondered. “I was thinking of the lessons I've had. They’re not my fondest memories,” Cesario confided.  
“I see,” the Duke nodded. Time for a more amusing topic, Cesario decided. “I think there’s maybe another explanation for the problem, one that puts no fault on us whatsoever, and in way not on the poem either.” “Let’s hear it, then,” Orsino encouraged.  
“There’s a chance the translator didn’t understand the verse and passed his confusion onto his work” Cesario conjectured. Orsino shrugged at that but almost right after said: “That means a different translator might have better understanding of the verse,” and got to his feet.  
He went for a drawer and took out a different copy of the same book, this one was much older and worn and translated by someone else. Two copies in the same room? Orsino wasn’t exagerating when he anouced his love for those poems, Cesario observed. They went on to find the same poem and look for the differences. Now Orsino was clearly enjoying himself.  
*  
When he left Orsino, Cesario went to the kitchen, surprised that a reading and comparing translations of poetry made him this hungry. Some of the staff was there and they all looked curiously at the boy. Valentine was the one who voiced their question: “I hear the Duke was laughing, did you fall on your face?” “That’d be pretty funny,” one of the sculleries agreed.  
“We talked about poetry,” Cesario clarified as he sat among the others.  
“What’s funny about that?” the man insisted. “I think he was just in a good mood,” the boy told the others as he helped himself to the food. “His moods haven't been exactly good lately,” mentioned the cook.  
“He seemed amiable enough to me,” Cesario explained meekly. “I think the master's found his soulmate,” Valentine jeered. The others laughed, while Cesario felt his face burn.  
*  
The next day, he woke up to the news the Duke wanted to see him. Anxiety took over the boy, who didn’t know exactly what he did wrong, but was sure there was no good reason why he'd want him first thing in the morning. He was sweating by the time he got to Orsino.  
What happened, though, was very different from what he imagined. When he entered the room, a pleased smile came to Orsino’s lips and he excitedly declared: “Here comes the one I need! Cesario, give me your opinion on these verses,” he comanded in friendly manner.  
Inside, Cesario felt his heart skip a beat at the Duke’s smile. There was no explanation why he got so happy in reaction, but he didn’t question it, he went to Orsino and received a paper from him. Now he could see it was one of the Duke’s own creations.  
The first thing he told himself was better give more constructive criticism this time. Nothing that made him want to destroy his poem. It was heavily influenced by last night’s poetry, but he wouldn’t like to hear that, so Cesario looked for more aspects he could coment on. There was much about longing and denied love. Cesario didn’t know those things first hand, but he knew poetry and those were constant themes for many writers. He sticked to what he knew.  
“It’s beautifully passionate. Is it your own?” the boy asked.  
His master came closer and placed a hand on Cesario’s shoulder, and for some reason that provoked a stirring in the boy’s lower belly. His breaths became shallower as he listened to what Orsino told him: “After all our discussion about poetry last night, I found myself thinking in rhythm. This is what I made of it.”  
“So this mention to sleepless nights isn’t just a poetic extrapolation,” the boy observed. “Love turns life into actual extrapolation,” the Duke urgently declared.  
Maybe it was his proximity, maybe the talk of love, whatever it was made Cesario wish he was allowed to place a hand on his master’s arm or chest or even kiss him. Such desires surprised the boy, for whom atraction had been no more than make believe betrothals back in Messaline. Now desire grew into this second self, who threatened to do things, not only imagine them.  
Oblivious to the boy’s conflicts, Orsino continued his testimony on the efects of love: “Ever since I've fallen in love with Olivia, I can't simply look at the sky or the waves, enjoy a song or poem or even a meal without this aflicting realization that I know very well what I'm missing, why everything seems so incomplete, and I can't fix it, because she won't let me.”  
The words “Olivia” along with “in love” were sickening to the boy, who wanted to sugest they went back to poetry and paid no mind to that woman, who was obviously blind to Orsino’s alure. That wasn’t what happened. Orsino had began talking about his favorite subject, no one could stop him now.  
“I know if I had her love, or at least the promise of her love, I'd be able to live my life fully again. Her love is what I need. Before I can sleep at night or enjoy a ride again, I must know I'm loved, that I live in her heart as she lives in mine.” The Duke looked and sounded like he was in a lot of pain as he said those words.  
Before he could think about his actions, Cesario took his master’s right hand between both of his and looked him in the eye promissing everything would be alright. There was nothing to backup this promise, but he couldn’t stand seeing someone he loved going through that and do nothing. Cesario didn’t expect to get so trapped in Orsino’s eyes. Now it seemed impossible to stop: his eyes were too deep, too wet and sparkly, gentle and knowing.  
There was the stirring in Cesario’s lower belly again. His mind went blank for a short while, until Orsino took each of the boy’s hands in his and seemed to study them. Not the hands! Cesario didn’t want anyone paying too much atention to his ridiculously small hands.  
“You have very pretty hands, so small and soft,” that subject made Cesario unconfortable. The Duke went on: “When we talk you hold your end so well, and when I see how young you are, it gets me wondering about your future.”  
“My future, my lord?” Cesario echoed, worried. His face clearly in flames and sweating through the palms of the hands Orsino was still holding.  
“Yes, your future,” Orsino confirmed as if impacient the boy didn’t understand what he was saying imediatly. He let go of Cesario’s hands. “If you're so bright at such a young age, the experience brought with time is probably going to be a good addition to it.”  
“I hope so, my lord,” the said, missing his master’s hands and refusing to think about it. It was no easy task ignoring those intruding thoughts, specially when the Duke would go silent and check out Cesario from head to toe, as if looking for something.  
“Have you been taught fencing, boy?” the Duke changed the subject after a long study of the boy's figure. “No, my lord, I've never had the chance to”, Cesario confessed. “I think it's time you were taught”, Orsino anouced. “Follow me”.  
Cesario hadn’t shared Sebastian’s fencing lessons. The most he'd ever gotten Sebastian to show him was how to actually grip on the sword and stand, nothing similar to the fierce movements that made him look so handsome during his training. Could Cesario ever be deadly?  
At first, all he did was watch Orsino making his first swordsman move around everywhere, but never really able to touch him. No memory of Sebastian’s lessons was so impressive as their training. The Duke was the lesser skilled, and still he would’ve defeated Sebastian easily. The first swordsman got the Duke really tired before touching him with his sword.  
Next, Orsino told the man Cesario needed some lessons in fencing. It was decided the boy should report to the swordsman in his afternoons from now on. Today, Orsino would leave the two to their lesson.  
As soon as they were alone, the older man looked at the boy up and down and said: “I heard we had a new comer, so it’s you. How did you get him here? It’s been a while since our Duke last worked on his fencing.”  
“I didn’t do anything,” Cesario defended himself. “It was all his ideia". “Well, that’s too bad,” the swordsman said with a smile. “I think I'm not the only one in this household who's ready to give a prize to anyone who could get our Duke acting like himself again.”  
“I just discussed poetry with him, nothing else. Then, all of a sudden he decided I needed fencing lessons,” Cesario explained, being as honest as possible.  
“He decided he should do some exercise as well. He could’ve sent you alone for your lessons. Is he planning on dueling anyone?”  
“Not that he told me,” the boy answered, worriedly. “All he told me was how much he loves the countess, lady Olivia.” “That’s what I'm worried about,” the swordsman confessed. “That lady is likely to have other suitors, I fear our master might put himself deliberately in course for tragedy”. “I hope you're wrong, my friend”, Cesario confessed.  
“I hope I'm wrong about that too, but I'm not your friend, boy, not yet at least. You'll call me signor Rinaldi. Now let’s see what you know already”. The swordsman spoke to him in a slightly uncaring way, but there was a smile he was fighting off his face.  
The fencing lessons were boring but pretty standard, when it was over, he wasn’t immediately dismissed though. Signor Rinaldi had a few questions: “Can you fight, boy?” “I don't think so, but I've never had to”, the boy informed. “How’s that even possible?” Rinaldi doubted. “I used to have a brother, he would protect me", the boy revealed, flinching at the pain of Sebastian’s loss.  
“Now that you don’t, how do you plan on defending yourself?” the swordsman chalenged. “I don't know”, the boy admited. “I just hope I don’t make anyone mad at me.”  
“I don’t think that’s possible,” the swordsman laughed. “Let me show you something.” He proceeded to show Cesario how to twist a man’s arm until it broke, where best to attack when you had to catch the other by surprise, and they gave their atention to that for a while.  
*  
Cesario was terribly sore when he made his way to the kitchen. “Who beat you?” the cook asked as soon as the boy set foot in there. Half the staff present seemed only too happy at the idea. “Signor Rinaldi was teaching me how to fight,” the boy clarified. “Getting beat up gave me an apetite”. “Maybe we can find him a wet-nurse", one of the women joked. “Might work,” a young man joined in. “You’ll never see me cry with a teet in my mouth.”  
While everyone present had a good laugh, Cesario was handed some hot food that made him stronger to endure the soreness in his body. He was also given a drink and a sweetcake. Maybe the first swordsman was right, maybe everyone was glad to hear Orsino was himself again. Cesario didn’t know what that meant, but the staff was impressed at something.  
*  
That evening they had the presence of Feste, a clown who sang beautifully and twisted the words of others so that they looked like fools. Orsino had Cesario by his side when the fool perfomed his songs. The Duke told him the clown mostly served at Olivia’s house, but on ocasion he would appear, sing songs, and collect his reward.  
Tonight the songs were of love and heart-ache. Orsino told the boy to pay atention to a particular one, and so he did. It was a song of unrequited love and the sea. It wasn’t like Cesario had made himself numb to the beauties of life, but because the master had just told him to listen closely, the boy opened himself up to the song, only to realize denied love and dear ones lost to the sea hit a little too close to home.  
He wanted to place his head on his knees and sob. But there was no room for that when so many people could see him. Not that the others were looking, but every so often, Orsino would turn his gaze to Cesario, as if to make sure the boy was as taken with the song as he was. What was he to do with his stupid girly tears? All he could think of doing was keeping them in his eyes and never letting them drop. That took most of his focus from the song. It didn’t matter. All he could think anyway was that he wasn’t suposed to blink lest the contained tears would drop.  
Orsino took his hand and had his lips almost touching Cesario’s ear when he asked for the boy's concurring: “Isn’t it the most pained love song you've ever heard?” The boy knew his voice would sound like he'd been crying, no matter how hard he fought to hide his tears, but he couldn’t deny his master an answer. “It’s lovely, my lord,” he agreed with his voice breaking. It was probably his voice which caught more of Orsino’s atention than he would’ve liked. The Duke looked in his eyes and Cesario blinked. The tears ran down his face and a drop fell on his master's hand. A gentle smile took over Orsino’s face, and lifted his hand to dry the boy's cheeks.  
“I see you too were touched by the song”. “It’s really sad and beautiful,” Cesario agreed.  
Later that night, he went to the kitchen to fetch a flagon of wine for his master. He took his time, bacause Feste was there, singing some dirty rhymes to the cook. Everyone else was laughing. When the fool received another cup and some meat, he promised he was finished, but he took a look around and his eyes stopped at Cesario.  
“And who's this tomboy?” he asked playfully. “I’m not some girl!” Cesario shouted, more ofended at the fool than at any of the kitchen staff's sugestions of how funny it'd be to see him get a beating.  
Everyone was laughing. Cesario hated that. It reminded him of the twins laughing at his every thought and action. Viola’s laughs hurt more than Sebastian's, for some reason. That got mixed up with the laughter Feste was getting from the staff at his expense.  
“Enough of that, Feste,” the cook comanded. “It’s bad advice to anger the boy”. “This pretty little thing?” the clown doubted. “The Duke’s new favorite”, a scullery clarified.  
“Favorite what?” the fool whispered, so that Cesario read his lips more than heard what he said.  
“I’d better go", the boy decided staring at Feste in anger. “My master enjoyed your singing, I don’t know if he would be so pleased at your cries for mercy”, Cesario threatened, even though he'd only had one fighting lesson his whole life. Lessons on intimidating talk he'd had many.  
Most of the staff reacted with excitement to the possibility of a fight right there for their entertainment. The cook, though, pushed the wine flagon towards Cesario and determined: “Not in my kitchen. You get the master his wine, boy, you've been dallying here too long already. Go”.  
He went back to the Duke, all the while thinking of his rage in answer to a fool’s joke. That’d been stupid. What would’ve he done if the cook hadn’t broken the fight from the start? Get beat up by the local fool? That would be even worse than being called a girl. Which by the way wasn’t any kind of fault, why the joke had felt so cruel then? Well, the fool didn’t know his past.  
When he got back to Orsino, though, all of his anger was forgotten. The Duke told Cesario to keep him company, and pour them both some wine. His master went on to tell him there were many sad and beautiful songs like the one they’d heard in Illyria, but the one they’d listened to earlier he enjoyed specially because when he was a child he used to think it was all about shipwrecks and didn’t notice it was also about denied love. Now he understood about the latter, revisiting the song ached him as much as brought him memories of a more carefree time, when he didn’t worry about the dangers of love.  
“Before Olivia's face was engraved in my heart I was a less worried man,” he confessed. “But wasn’t I more blind too?” “Blind, my lord?” Cesario was confused. “Isn’t it love that makes us blind?” the boy insisted.  
“Well, love makes us blind to our loved ones's faults, but never being in love will keep you blind to the good of it, and make you see a fool where the bravest of man stands.”  
“But does love require bravery, master?” the boy asked him, genuinely curious. “Certainly, boy. Lust and desire are like hunting and fighting, men's sports. Love’s not a sport, not a craft, nor anything taught us men to pursue. When ones touches your heart, you can run from it, or let love grow its roots and never be in charge of your needs again.”  
“Love sounds dangerous when you put it like that, master,” the boy observed.  
“But it is!” the Duke insisted. “Unrequited love is dangerous, jealousy is dangerous, there’s always the risk the one you give your heart to will break it.”  
“Some people don’t think about all that when they look for love,” the boy observed.  
“Well, love requires bravery from some and foolery from others".  
“But is it fool or brave to go after what you know can hurt you?” Cesario insisted.  
“It’d be foolish if the only prize you got in return were pain, but that's not how it works. If you’re successful, you get the one you love in marriage, start a family, stop daydreaming about love and start living it.”  
“Now it sounds like a risk worth taking,” the boy commented. “It's nothing you should be worried about,” Orsino observed. “Your looks and wits are bound to turn many heads before you yourself are aflicted by it.”  
“I don't think there'll be much room for love in my life, my lord,” Cesario confessed, trying to make it sound more like it was a decision and less like it was his own strangeness that made him unlovable.  
Orsino laughed, as if the idea had obvious flaws and the boy was being silly just for entertaining it. “When I was as young as you are, I used to believe the same. And it's easy to think so, it makes more sense to believe we'll always be as we are, than to understand you might become the very object of your mocking.”  
“Mocking, sir?” Cesario never mocked his master and now worried he was being acused of that. “I know others laugh at my being in love, same as they laugh at Feste,” Orsino began. As they laugh at the chance of me getting beat up, Cesario thought but didn’t say. “Let them laugh, I say,” Orsino went on. “It doesn’t change they're subject to me. Do you understand?”  
“I think I do, master.” The boy wasn’t sure he did but he didn’t want to disapoint the Duke. “But at the same time, I don’t think I've ever seen you being mocked by anyone in this house. All I hear is how worried they are that your love changes your habits into others they don’t recognize.”  
“Worry, you say,” Orsino clearly thought the word over.  
“Yes, my lord, worried about your well-being,” the boy insisted.  
“There’s nothing to be worried about,” the Duke declared. “Do you see any reason to worry now that you're here with me?” he inquired. “Well, I don’t, my lord, but I've only met you yesterday morning. It's the others, who have known you before your falling in love, who say you’re not the same anymore.”  
“And who is?” he disdained. “Don’t they know none of us shall remain unchanged? I can garantee you, as much as I was rambunctious once, Curio was once insecure about distributing my comands, and Valentine was so shy he wouldn’t look a woman’s way. So you see, no one is unchanged, and your experiences will transform you as well.”  
Cesario nodded in agreement, trying to imagine Curio and Valentine as the Duke described them. Easier to imagine Curio unconfortable with his new position, than Valentine being too shy to turn his eyes to a woman. Lacking anything more clever to say, he comented on his disbelief Valentine had ever been shy.  
“You know, I've sent him as my messenger to Olivia a few days ago, before you arrived. Mind you, he wasn’t admited, but a few years ago he would’ve stood silently at the gates until someone told him to leave, and he would’ve complied.”  
“Why don't you go yourself, my lord? I'm sure she couldn’t just let you stand there and refuse to see you,” Cesario sugested, ignoring some inner voice telling him not to help.  
“Yes, she can,” Orsino differed. “I have better things to do than stand at her gates to be told by some servant I can’t see my love.”  
“Of course, forgive my ignorance, my lord,” Cesario apologized, seeing how stupid it was to assume his master would behave like a commoner.  
“It’s no ofense, boy. I imagine it is easier for a common man to love a common woman, but as it is, I have greater interests than dealing with her pawns.  
“I see,” Cesario nodded as he spoke. “Do you, now?” Orsino playfully slapped the boy's shoulder. “Don’t you have more insights in wooing?” he smiled as he said those words, it didn’t make Cesario any less uncomfortable. “I- - I apologize, my lord. It’s not my place. I didn’t mean- -“  
“Enough of that,” Orsino interrupted, “save it for when it’s needed, otherwise we won’t get very far ahead in our conversation, will we?”  
“As you wish, master,” the boy answered, looking at his feet.  
Orsino chuckled before saying: “I’d tell you not to worry about it but then again,” another chuckle, “you look so pretty when you blush.”  
Cesario looked at him surprised at his words. Now the boy's cheeks burned. Orsino's reaction was to burst into laughter. That didn’t help the blush to ease.  
“I might be drunk,” the Duke anounced as he got to his feet, now laughing at himself. “So good night to you, my friend,” he wished with a hand on Cesario’s shoulder, looking directly into his eyes.  
“Good night, my lord,” the boy responded, feeling his heart thunder in his chest at his master's closeness. It was nearly impossible to breath.  
*  
That night, back in the kitchen, he apologized to the fool for not knowing how to take a joke. “You’d think I feel foolish now for making fun of a gentleman, but I only ever feel wise and holy,” the clown answered with a huge smile that never left his face. “After all, it'd be too wise for a fool to aknowlege his foolery, as it'd be vain of a holy man to rejoice in his selflessness.”  
“Any drop wiser and you might find yourself out of a job,” Cesario adviced jokingly.  
*  
That morning, it took him a while to remember why his body felt so sore. Then signor Rinaldi's fighting lessons came back to him. Cesario groaned at the thought he'd have to go back for more this afternoon. He was about to get good and bad news.  
Valentine acompanied him out of the kitchen. He said he was very impressed how well the boy was doing with the master. Of course it was Valentine, he wouldn’t just compliment him and leave at that. He had to bring up the possibility of Cesario losing his favor with the Duke, even though Valentine himself had to admit the chances weren’t high. But he only said that after planting his seed of worry.  
It didn’t last long though. Soon, Orsino entered the room and demanded: “Where’s Cesario?”  
“I’m here, my lord,” the boy answered, overjoyed at his master's want of him. Nobody said “Cesario” quite like Orsino, it was a thrill that ran all through his body.  
The Duke told the others to stand by and drew the boy to the arm he placed across his back. “Cesario, I've decided you're going to be my messenger to Olivia,” he anouced, clearly convinced this was a fabulous idea. “Me, my lord?” the boy was confused. “It’s such a great honor!” Too great, actually. Cesario already felt sick.  
“Of course you. You're well spoken enough to please me, I'm sure you'll do just as nicely with Olivia,” the Duke encouraged, placing his open palm on the mortified boy's chest.  
Cesario wanted to die for more than one reason. Every hair of his was standing, from his head to those two tiny strands on each of his toes. And as if that wasn’t complicated enough, the man responsible for all that wanted him to tell of his love to the lady who’d stolen his heart.  
“Why would she see me when she’s refused the other messengers?” Cesario objected.  
“Because you're young and unintimidating,” he stated as an universal truth.  
“I'm not sure about that, my lord,” the boy comented looking down.  
“Believe me in that: time has not yet roughened your aspect. You look much nicer than the previous messengers, more genteel and closer to her own age. That'll do the trick,” he was sure.  
“But if she agrees to see me, what should I say?”  
“Tell her how much I long to be in her company, how she is present in my every thought, how her image is burnt in my lids and is all I can see even with my eyes closed. Use your discourse, you’re sure to charm her as much as you charm - - you know, everyone.” He coughed and cleared his throat.  
*  
Orsino told the others to attend Cesario in his quest, and leave their master be for now. Walking the streets of Illyria in the company of the Duke's men was a great feeling. He no longer lived in hiding. He had the sun on his face, his friends around him, and a purpose to fulfill. Of course the future was unknown, but the present was good enough that the past didn’t haunt him for the time being.  
He was barred at the gates of the countess house, but that was expected. His job was to promise he wouldn’t leave before an audience with lady. He'd be denied in and call again at very short periods. He'd stay there all day, that was the plan. After many calls, a different man came to the gates. From afar it was visible he wasn’t pleased to be there at all.  
“I must see lady Olivia on behalf of my master- -”  
“The Duke Orsino, I know,” the sour man interrupted. “My lady's made clear she has no interest in your master's pursuit. Now, if that’s understood, I believe you can leave and tell your master so.”  
“Sir, I don’t take my leave from you. If not my own master, then I wish to hear it from your lady, otherwise I'll continue my stand. I'll sit if I have to, and I'll build myself a house at these gates if she makes me wait that long,” Cesario anounced.  
“Do us all a favor and leave,” the unpleasent man insisted. “You’ve been here and you've been denied, no different from his previous messengers. Your job's done.”  
“I’ll be the last messenger you get from Duke Orsino,” Cesario promised. “That’s good,” the sour man said, unamused. “I can't wait for this to be over.”  
“You don't understand, sir, I'll be the last one, because I will deliver my message to your lady It doesn’t matter how long it takes,” Cesario declared in an atempt to be menacing.  
The man rolled his eyes at him and left. Cesario called a few more times before the bells anouced the end of another hour. The next time he called, to his deep surprise, he was admited. Even if all else went wrong, he'd had the pleasure of the sour man's sullen face when he walked him into the house.  
In the room were two women with veiled faces and black dresses. Cesario had a second to decide which dress looked the finest and addressed that woman when he said he had a message to the lady of the house. At first they wouldn’t tell Cesario if he'd been right. Were they tricking him?  
“You see, I have some words to tell the lady Olivia, and it was very difficult to memorize them, I'd rather not have to repeat myself, I don’t think I have the energy, I mean, I arrived at your gates before noon. It doesn’t sound like much but after the first hour it gets really tempting to just trespass.”  
“Thank you for managing this rather impossible task, and leaving my house uninvaded,” the same woman replied impatiently.  
“But I can't leave your house without conveying my message. Since you claimed this house in your thanks, should I take you're lady Olivia?”  
“Sometimes I myself doubt it, but yes,” she finally admited.  
“Lady Olivia, the words I have are meant only for your ears,” Cesario anounced.  
“Whatever you have to say can be told before Maria,” the lady decided.  
“Not these words, my lady. The message I bring is too delicate to stand the examination of any other than its intended,” Cesario insisted.  
“Why should I give any atention to words that don’t stand examination?” she dismissed.  
“It’s part of the secret, isn’t it? How can it be so important and so elusive? How can the message be so venturous and carried by such a helpless messenger? Why should you listen when you've come this far without it?”  
“Answer the last question, then. Why should I listen?” Olivia chalenged him.  
“Because you’re missing something, and this message may bring you a step closer to what you need.”  
“What do you know of my needs?” the lady sounded angry.  
“Not much of you, my lady, but some needs are common to all men.”  
“I’m no man, so I repeat what do you know of my needs?” Olivia corrected.  
Cesario felt stupid for using a sentence that refered to all men when talking to a woman. But there was no time to wonder when he'd gotten so dumb. He had to convince the lady.  
“Like I said,” Cesario began again, “I don’t know much of your needs in particular, my lady, but I have eyes, and I can see you're in mourning- -”  
“Common knowlege in Illyria. Where are you from?” the lady interrupted.  
“My origins are of no consequence to the message I carry,” the boy insisted. “And if you'd listen to it, then I should feel my work's done, and leave you to your prayers and tears.”  
The words came out much ruder than he had planned. They were suposed to sound like a deal not a scoff, but to tell the truth, he was getting pretty angry at the woman. He would kill to have problems like hers: seven years of mourning for a lost brother, too much love from Orsino, and a very sour man to follow comands.  
He was actually surprised when Olivia agreed to hear him, and send her gentlewoman away. Now it was only the two of them and the lady prompted him to speak. “Who sent you here?” she demanded to know.  
“I come in behalf of my master the Duke Orsino.”  
“And what message is so urgent that you had to behave like that at my gates?”  
“His love for you is of the most urgent kind. You're already part of my master's every thought, and he wishes you to know he would like you to partake in other aspects of his life as well” Cesario began.  
“He has my answer about that. Nothing has changed, why does he think I have a different opinion on this now?”  
Cesario didn’t know, and that shouldn’t have mattered, he was suposed to talk about love, not facts. But her veil was terribly distracting. “Please, let me see your face,” he asked. And to his surprise the lady complied.  
She was so beautiful it hurt. Of course she'd be beautiful, how else could she have stolen Orsino’s heart the way she did? Beauty or witchcraft, and without a veil anyone could see she had no use for the latter.  
“Your beauty is so great it dazzles me. I don’t understand why I'm the only messenger here. There should be a line at your door as long as every man who's ever set eyes on you. My master is only doing what’s expected, the real question is what’s wrong with anyone who can sleep at night knowing there’s beauty like yours going unclaimed in this world.”  
“Is that what you think?” Olivia encouraged.  
“I don’t understand how anyone can think differently.”  
There was a sly smile on Olivia’s face when she asked: “Are you going to lose sleep over me? Will you be lined at my gates along with every other man who’s ever seen me?”  
“I, madam, will dedicate as much thought to you as my master. Where you once had one man devoted to your being, now you have two.”  
“I can't begin to tell you how sick I am of your master’s devotion. I've told him time and time again, I mourn for my brother, and therefore have no interest in his suit.”  
“I once knew a girl who loved her brother as much as you loved yours. They were born on the same day, but he passed away suddenly and left her without a man to care for her,” Cesario told her without taking time to consider it.  
“Are you telling me about one of your girlfriends?” Olivia sneered.  
“Oh, no, madam, I have the same parents as the twins in my story,” Cesario confessed with less humor.  
The distant sadness in the boy’s eyes got the countess's smile to fade. She looked both aproachable yet numb saying: “I’m sure your brother is in a better place, as mine.”  
“I pray that you’re right, my lady,” Cesario agreed before running out of things to say. It was hard to continue a conversation as taken by grief as he was. Luckly Olivia had a question:  
“But what happened to your sister? Did she overcome her grief?”  
“I don't know, my lady,” he answered in all honesty. “I’m all that’s left, I'm afraid.”  
“And don’t you feel terribly for them?” Olivia elicited. “I haven't had much time to mourn my loss, madam. But I fear if I ever gave into my grief at its full, I'd never recover, so imense it is,” the boy admited.  
“It seems you and I have something in common after all,” Olivia observed. “This was a better conversation than I expected.”  
Seeing she was about to dismiss him, Cesario anxiously asked: “What about my master? Don’t you have any words for him?”  
“Only the ones he already has,” she said with what looked like a condescending smile. “If I may say so, my lady,” Cesario began waiting for no permission, “a beauty like yours is a gift of the gods, it’s not meant for hiding behind veils and grief. The gods resent on those who would refuse their gifts.”  
“Do you worry I might invite the wrath of the gods on myself?” she asked in an amused voice.  
“That’s what you risk when you deny the world your beauty and all the love it’s meant to inspire.”  
“I thank you for your worries, young sir, but it’s a risk I'm willing to take. Now, please, tell your master that.”  
“He won’t be satisfied by this answer, my lady. He'll probably send me back.”  
“You can come back if it's to tell me he understands. It’s the only news I want from Orsino. Now go back to your master and see that he listens,” she comanded.  
*  
He'd barely taken half a dozen steps to the street, wondering where his friends were, when Olivia’s sour man caught up to him. He had a ring in his hand, which he said the lady Olivia ordered the boy to take back to his master.  
“I can't do that, sir,” Cesario evaded, trying to understand what was happening. How could he take back something that he never had?  
“My lady says you forced this on her when she wouldn’t have it. Now get it back to your master, and respect my lady's wishes.” He threw the ring on the ground in front of Cesario’s feet, turned his back and left.  
What had just happened? He didn’t understand. Where had that story come from? Cesario knew the lady had never accepted Orsino’s gifts, so it wasn’t a ring brought by a previous messenger. Was he suposed to give Orsino the ring?  
After he understood, he felt very ashamed it'd taken him so long to realize Olivia meant for him to have her ring, not his master. And that could only mean- - Cesario, you idiot, what have you done?  
What had he done? Exactly what part of his act had been that charming? On the other hand, when had he become desirable to women? It was hard not to feel flattered. But the feeling didn’t last: soon, all he could think of was that Olivia would just laugh at him if she knew who he really was. And now he had another secret.  
He found the men in a nearby tavern, playing cards and drinking. Joining them made the boy realize he was ravenous, so he ate as the men finished their game. They wanted him to tell them what had happened but he didn’t know what parts were safe to talk about.  
“Nobody beat me if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said jokingly. A disappointed “oh” rose from different parts of the table. “I was allowed in, I told the lady of the house our master’s mesage, but I didn’t convince her to love him” Cesario summed up.  
“It’s still more than Valentine ever got,” one of boys joked. “Like you were admited!” Valentine acused sullenly. “But aren’t you the greatest player we'll ever meet?” another one provoked. The table roared with laughter. “Couldn’t you seduce your way in?” More laughter.  
“You laugh at me but only one at this table did the job,” Valentine complained. “Now let’s buy him a drink in celebration of a job well done.” The table aplauded that idea.  
Usually Cesario would touch his lips to the cup's rim, wet them, but not drink. This evening was different, the men bullied him into drinking, checking if he wasn’t faking it. And it wasn’t wine, but some heavy liquor that would be considered too low for the Duke’s palace.  
They went home in various steps of benter. They were noisy in the streets, picked on each other for fun and laughed at everything. It was a long way, so the men decided to stop at yet another tavern. Cesario didn’t fully remember why he wasn’t suposed to have another drink, so when the boys got him one, he drank it.  
He was still a little drunk when they got home. All in all, he was the soberest in the group, yet the rest of the boys didn’t have to report to Orsino when they arrived. They all told him to walk straight lines and not make jokes, and he should be fine. But it wasn’t that easy.  
“Are you drunk?” the Duke asked. “It’s a possibility, my lord,” he admited ignoring the proud look on his own face.  
“Did I tell you to go out and get drunk?” Orsino questioned, steping the borderline of annoyed and angry. “Of course not, my lord,” Cesario answered still smiling too much in his master’s opinion. “So why are you drunk?” “I’m celebrating?” Cesario sugested as an answer, although he wasn’t sure that was the real explanation. “Then you're early, the holiday's on Monday,” Orsino explained, his patience more feigned than real.  
“Not the holiday,” Cesario corrected a little more intensely than necessary. “The job done.”  
“So you spoke to Olivia?” Orsino sounded skepticall. “I did!” the boy assured. “Did you speak to her before you started drinking?” the Duke inquired more preocupiedly. “Sure, my lord.”  
Orsino grabbed the boy by both arms, gazing into his eyes, and demanded to know: “What did she say?”  
Cesario knew that was a serious matter, being drunk was no excuse, he told himself. What had Olivia said? Not the ring, not the ring! a part of his brain warned. Why not? It doesn’t matter, just shut up about it. He gave up his internal dialogue to voice out an information that popped in his mind: “She says she’s in mourning and has no use for your courtship.”  
“I can't have that,” Orsino spoke matter-of-factly. “Let’s focus on the victory for now. So you were admited and you spoke to her?” he summed up. “I did, my lord,” the boy's proud face was now more in keeping with Orsino’s disposition. “That’s good! That’s very good!” he placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and went on: “Good job, Cesario. I supose the men are right and you do deserve a reward.” “I don’t think I can keep anymore liquor down”, Cesario laughed proudly.  
“That’s not what I have in mind, my friend”, Orsino answered going to his desk. He pulled a drawer open and took something out: a pouch, which he handed to the boy. “How do you like the sound of that?”  
It was more than half full, he could tell holding and shaking the purse. “It’s very generous, my lord. I hope you really are as happy as you’re paying me,” Cesario thanked. “I’d hate if you resented me for a work I would’ve done for your gratitude alone.”  
“I’ve told you already, if you succeed in this job, I'll deny you nothing in thanks. You'll be free to have as yours anything I have a claim on. This is just a small taste. But do you want it now or when your senses are back?” the Duke offered.  
“What’s the difference?” the boy asked genuinely confused. “Right now you don’t seem to know which way is right or left.” “I’ll trust your judgement of course, master.”  
“Of course,” Orsino laughed. “You’re a good friend, Cesario. Now, tell me, when you spoke to my lady, did she mention any other reason except her grief over her brother not to accept my love?” “No, my lord. She said her mourning is all she has in her heart, and that’s why no room is left for love.”  
“That’s not a bad answer. There’s nothing against me in particular. When she joins life again, she must know who'll be the first to come in celebration.”  
“It’s a good plan, my lord. You'll be the first in line to welcome her back to sunshine and the public eye. The others will see her in your arm and go home defeated,” Cesario cheered, not caring he'd also go home in tears that day.  
“Line?” Orsino repeated worried. “Others, you say? How many others were there? How many got to see her?”  
“None, my lord,” the boy was quick to explain. “What I mean is you must have rivals. A lady as beautiful as yours is likely to sway all men's hearts, not only the worthy ones like yours.”  
“Are you swayed by her charms, boy?” Orsino laughed as if there was something unimaginable about it. “Are we destined to duel over her? If so, you're very behind on your fencing lessons, not only today's.”  
“Rats! I didn’t tell signor Rinaldi I had work today. He will beat me this time. Well, at least people will have what to laugh at,” Cesario considered.  
*  
The next morning they acompanied Orsino to church. Cesario discreetly lagged behind to avoid communion, unsure he deserved it. In the end the whole people of Illyria could be seen leaving church. They dallied in the square talking, the children running and laughing around them, bells still tolling. The Duke had a chance to greet Olivia, who didn’t do more than respond politely and take her leave. She did, though, look curiously Cesario’s way. But it was just a second.  
His master was in a good mood for the rest of the day. He reminded Cesario of his pouch, and elicited more talk about poetry from the boy. He told Orsino he felt worse for Telemachus than he did for Odysseus. The first had to be a man, and not any man but the lord of Ithaca, without even knowing his father or any man other than his mother's villanous suitors. Yes, Odysseus couldn’t get home, it wasn’t good either, but he enjoyed his chalenges in spite of the risk. That was his opinion anyway.  
“Maybe when you’ve lived through a few more chalenges, you'll see that you can either enjoy your troubles or suffer them, but they must be lived anyway. Why is the man who can apreciate that be shamed?”  
“When you put like that...” the boy considered. “But I still feel bad for Telemachus, he had no one to show him what a real man is like”. “And what’s a real man like?” the Duke asked with a smile on his face. “Like you, my lord,” the boy was quick to answer. Orsino laughed, pleased.  
*  
The next day was the holiday. Everyone woke up in high spirits. The house was decorated in according colors, much like the Duke’s clothes. Orsino was keeping himself busy overseeing details of the feast he'd hold that evening. He told Cesario to take to the streets with the others and have some fun. That was the order of the day.  
The streets were crowded and full of excitement. Everywhere there was food and drink being sold and people swarming over those goods as much as over music.  
One of the house girls offered to show him how to dance to that tune, since he said he didn’t know that dance in particular but could move to the music. There was some teasing about it but Cesario was coming to understand there was teasing from and to everyone in his found family.  
After some getting used to it, dancing was most of what he did. He also found himself dancing with Feste when it was time to change partners. It was funny at the first second, but Cesario was very consious of all the eyes around them. “I think I much rather buy you a drink than dance with you.”  
“I don’t know what kind of girl you men think I am, that you buy me drinks but never dance with me,” Feste feigned offense. “You don’t want it?” the boy teased. “More for me.”  
“No, young sir, you can shower me with your blessings. After all, if all girls refused courtship from a man more beautiful than them, you'd die a bachelor.” “That’s very funny, but I'm afraid you wouldn’t make for a very convincing girl.”  
“I supose,” the fool began. “But hear my problem and you too will agree it's best to marry a boy.” “I doubt that,” Cesario encouraged.  
“The innkeeper tells me one of the hens is too old and doesn’t lay eggs anymore. The solution, to make a stew. But an old hen's meat is not as savoury. Now tell me if you wouldn’t much rather have in your mouth not some old hen but a young cock?”  
“If that’s your punchline here's mine,” Cesario answered, looking for the skinniest part of Feste's body to hit him. It hurt his hand but the clown didn’t laugh at his weak punches either. He was learning. “I’m a man of my word, so I'm still buying you a drink, but I'll take my leave of you, I dislike your slanders.”  
The clown laughed before saying: “You may be prettier than my lady, but you’re still a man”, the fool stated with a gleam in his eyes that sugested he believed to have the upper hand on the conversation. Since it was rare that he admited to know Cesario was man, the boy waited for the conclusion: “You dislike slanders about yourself but would probably be amused at what I have to say of your peers and betters.”  
“It’s possible,” Cesario conceded. “But it’s also true that every day brings new oportunities to be better. Maybe I should take mine now.” “Then we must part ways, young master. For self improvement is in my craft a greater ruin than the inkeeper befriending the hens.” And so they split.  
*  
Lady Olivia made an appearence during mass still in black and veiled and was the first to leave once the final blessings had been given. She had no plans for attending the Duke’s feast. Orsino was disappointed but not surprised.  
As they left, they were aproached by two young women and a crone, all three dressed in a very foreign way to the boy. Although the young women were attractive, it was the eldest who approched the Duke. “Your hand, my lord, and much can be told of your fortune”, she invited in a voice that sounded full of secrets and stories. The whole time, one of the girls served as suport for the woman. “Fine, then, but make it good”, the Duke accepted while pretending to be impatient.  
“You’re a strong man with strong feelings. You're in a quest for love but it eludes you. I tell you, love will come to you at its own pace, and its own like, which may not be what you think it is. Your heart's eye will know what it needs, though reason might tell you there are better ways to go. Bear in mind, when one gets their wish done, interest is soon lost and a new idea takes its place; but when one gets what’s needed, that's when life presents you the misteries the uniniciated can never conceive.”  
“As usual, vague words said in obscure way,” Orsino declared looking rather amused. He paid the crone. “Maybe there’s something about your destiny as well that you must be told,” she turned to Cesario.  
“And spoil the surprise?” the boy tried to evade. “What’s fun about that?” “Do you have secrets?” the old woman bullied him. Cesario went scarlet, and Orsino burst into laughter. “It’s a show, boy,” he encouraged placing a hand on his shoulder. “Tell him his fortune,” the Duke comanded.  
“Your hand, young man,” the crone prompted. Cesario cursed internally. Not the hands! As soon as the old woman held it she shot a surprised glance at Cesario but quickly hid it. Not her sly smile though. “You’re more than you let on, aren’t you, beautiful boy? I see you lost much, and I see you work hard to replace it with all you've gained, as it should be. But a part of you is still lost. You walk the world half a person, trying to be whole again. I see some of what you lost restored to you. And there’s a girl somewhere in desperate need of your embrace,” she winked at him as she said the final words, letting him know she wasn’t talking about love.  
“Thanks, wise crone,” he said handing her money. “Thank you for your kind words.” “And silence,” she completed in a mutter, looking down as if busy putting the money away.  
“That was very promissing,” Orsino comented. “Now I have a feast to hold. Good day to you, Gipsy.” “And to you, my lord,” the crone answered smiling, but Cesario could see a hurt hidden in her eyes. “And you, beautiful boy,” she added noticing Cesario’s stare and once more smiling knowingly. He quickly turned away.  
*  
Everyone who was anyone in Illyria attended to Orsino’s feast. Except for lady Olivia, of course. Olivia’s cousin had actually come, though. The Duke comanded the servants to attended him well.  
Seeing that everyone took the order with a straight face, and that they were native to Illyria, Cesario said nothing about the name Toby Belch. He was a rounded fellow with a jolly looking, red face. And seeing how bright he looked from a distance in the lit up hall, it was safe to say sir Toby was also sweaty.  
Orsino’s dance partners were chosen more politically than out of pleasure, but as Odysseus he took as much enjoyment from his duty as he could find. He also had Cesario dance with his dignataries's daughters, specifically the youngest ones who were recently out. And to be honest he did famously. Not one but two of those young ladies send him tokens of affection before leaving.  
He put away a pink fan and a pale blue ribbon in the trunk where he kept a few possessions, including Orsino’s pouch, well, the pouch he gave him, and the ring from Olivia. There was the constant nagging thought that none of those girls would look his way if they knew what the wise crone saw in an instant. He didn’t want to think about that, so he tried to remember what was the word his master had used that she had disliked. It was a new word for him and unless he got some explanation for it, he would never use it lest someone might become more displeased than the old woman at it, and he was no Duke, more than just the house staff would enjoy his beating, and not just the idea of it either.  
He fell asleep and dreamed of Sebastian and Viola dancing. They were alone, and no music played. The twins were completely taken by their dance. Sebastian led confidently and Viola spiraled like nymph. They courtised to one another at the end. When it was over, both cracked up laughing.  
“Let's change places now,” Viola asked her twin. “I don't want to be the girl,” her brother complained. “It’s just for a dance,” she insisted. “I have to be the girl all the time.”  
And just like that Viola was the boy and Sebastian the girl. That woke him up in sweats.  
*  
Orsino slept in that day but woke up in a good mood. He said it was as good a day as any to go about his land and make sure nothing was neglected. Cesario was required to acompany him and as usual was delighted at his master's preference for him.  
They oversaw fields of olive and vineyards, rode past herds to his borders, and discussed the most urgent improvements his lands required. “When the crops are reaped we'll have a much more exciting holiday than yesterday’s,” Orsino promised.  
“That will be hard to beat,” Cesario spoke his mind. “Just you wait,” the Duke garanteed with a confident gleam in his eyes.  
Cesario lived for that gleam. Which he understood was pretty stupid of him but had no control over. And even if he did... He was happier when Orsino was pleased, and he seemed to have a talent to please him, why should he ever do anything else?  
“It’s a very beautiful land, my lord,” he told him wholeheartedly as they rode back. “Very different from my own. And this was a lovely day to see it. I hope to see more sometime”. “Not a bad idea,” Orsino agreed.  
They made a turn on the road that allowed them a good look at the beach. A camp could be seen. “My lord,” Cesario remembered his question, “what was the word you used for the fortune tellers last evening?” “A word for them? Do you mean gipsy?” the Duke sounded confused.  
“What does it mean?” the boy questioned, eager for answers. “It’s just what we call them, that's all,” Orsino dismissed. “But is that what they call themselves? I don’t think the old woman liked it”.  
“I’m not really worried about what she likes,” the Duke informed showing signs of anoyance.  
“Of course not, my lord,” Cesario quickly amended. “It’s just idle thought. Checking my powers of observation, that's all.” After a short pause, he added: “But I must say I myself am happier to comply when people call me Cesario, not runt, and specially not girl. Except for Feste,” he remembered with a laugh. “I’m learning to enjoy his absurd names and acusations for me.”  
“Are you, now?” there was a pleased smile on Orsino’s lips as he spoke. “So it seems Telemachus is learning to look for the lesson in every obstacle rather than just lament it. And no one to guide him but Pallas Athena, not one man.”  
Cesario laughed and blushed. “I have much better fortune than Telemachus, master. I have you to guide me,” he said in the confident voice of a faithful follower.  
It was Orsino’s turn to blush. Cesario froze his smile on his face, not knowing how to react. The Duke cleared his throat and looked away. “Let’s hope I'm a good shepherd,” Orsino muttered, and his pageboy didn’t know whether he was suposed to have listened.  
*  
At night, Orsino told Curio he'd love the news: they were going hunting as soon as he had everything ready. The Duke said Cesario was responsible for planting the idea in his mind but the boy didn’t remember doing that.  
It didn’t matter to the house staff that he didn’t know what he’d done, they were in a mix of relief and delight that Orsino was acting a little more like himself again. Curio actually kissed him in front of the staff as they celebrated late at night. And it was a brotherly kiss, too, nothing that would emasculate him before the others.  
“To Cesario,” they toasted.  
*  
He was a helpless hunter. He couldn’t track, he couldn’t shoot, and he flinched whenever something died. But he did enjoy the ride, the nature, and most of all Orsino's excitement. It ocurred to the boy that if Olivia could see what he was like when not lost in contemplation of the idea of her, then she might see something to love about Orsino. But a hunt was no place for women, he knew that. Orsino’s wife, whomever she might be if not Olivia, would never see what he looked like when the prey colapsed in exaustion and he declared his victory: as powerful as a god.  
The hunt distracted Orsino for days but his interest in it couldn’t last forever. The staff worried that he would go back into a sorrowful disposition now his hunting spree had worn itself out. Specially because there was a patch of foul weather coming and it agreed only too well with their master’s tendencies to delight in his own angst.  
It was a very dark morning after practcing his fencing, and seeing that Cesario was taught, when the Duke complained about the weather.  
“It's good for playing cards with the boys,” Rinaldi mentioned, shrugging dismissively.  
“I wish they’d let me play,” Cesario muttered sullenly.  
“So learn how to play,” the swordsman shouted as he disarmed the boy.  
“Do you know chess?” Orsino asked. Rinaldi stopped short his next strike to let the boy answer. “I know it but I'm not good at it.”  
“It’s a skill,” Orsino explained. “Maybe I should help you work it. What do you say?” “I hope I don’t bore you, my lord”. “That should be new”, Orsino chuckled, making the boy blush, and laughing at the result.  
They played chess for the rest of the day. At the same time, Orsino would tell him stories. They started chess related but soon he was talking about his late father’s life, and of Olivia’s late brother next, who'd been much closer to the Duke than anyone had told Cesario.  
“So it’s not only her beauty,” Cesario realized, unable to hide the defeat. Don’t be an idiot, he told himself, you have your own place in his heart, not that, never that. Not in anyone's heart.  
“It is her beauty,” Orsino corrected. “I have many good friends and I'm not offering to marry any of their sisters. But she was a part of my friend before she was anything to me, so that when I first saw her, all the small remarks I'd heard through the years were made into a woman and I could see who she was.”  
“But can a brother see his sister clearly?” Cesario wondered. “What do you mean?” Orsino rested his head on his palm.  
“If your friend were here and you told him you love his sister, would he go of course you love her, who doesn’t? or more like what do you want to marry a baby for?”  
Orsino laughed, to Cesario’s surprise, who didn’t know he was being funny. “I supose a brother would be quite inclined to answer the latter. But then he would count and the math would tell him his brotherly eyes had him fooled.” Orsino sighed heavily. “He would’ve blessed it, I'm sure.”  
“Of course he would,” Cesario said sounding surprised by the Duke's need to mention it. Did he doubt that of all things? “Who wouldn’t?” Orsino visibly blushed, then went pale. “Go get me some wine, Cesario,” he urged. The boy went for flagon but Orsino stopped him. “Not that one. The really good one, go!” he comanded.  
Cesario left, confused, wondering if he did something wrong. The words “the really good one”, referring to wine required a great deal of knowlege about the Duke’s cellar, so he let the cook decide what that meant. When he came back, though, he didn’t find Orsino anywhere.  
*  
He went back to Olivia that day on Orsino’s comand. The man who’d attended to Orsino’s feast, sir Toby Belch, deterred him at the gates, saying his cousin would see no one. “She'll see me, I'm telling you,” Cesario protested, but the man was too drunk for reasoning. Fortunately, Olivia’s sour man was coming for him. How ironic to be so relieved to see him.  
“Sir Toby, my lady will see this gentleman now, thank you for entertaining him,” the sour man was very patronizing.  
“Very well, Malvolio. You take this gentleman to Olivia. I'll take to the cellar,” sir Toby turned around and left.  
“That’s a very jolly man,” Cesario noted, smiling.  
“He abuses my lady's kindness and his place as her cousin. One of these days she'll have enough”, Malvolio said between snorts.  
Olivia expected him in the same room as last time. At first she looked composed and unreachable, as soon as they were alone, she smiled hugely at him. “You did come! I've been waiting for you.”  
Cesario came to her, and sat before Olivia. She peered closer to the boy, who looked expectantly at her. “Why didn’t you come sooner?” “I come as my master comands,” Cesario explained quickly before he was trapped in her eyes.  
Olivia sighed. “Give me your hand,” she demanded, and took it when the boy held it out. “I don't know why I acted the way I did. I'm not one to do things without consideration. But the only thought in my mind was that you knew of my feelings. I do feel ashamed though that I exposed myself, my servant, and I fear you.”  
“It was a dangerous gambit,” the boy agreed.  
“Did you take advantage of that? Did you boast my affection to your peers?” she inquired anxiously. “No, my lady, never,” he was quick to defend himself. “I know it's just too easy for a thoughtless man to destroy a lady’s name with his words. And unfair, too, that my master is a virtuous man pursuiting your love, but that you'd be so easily slandered for doing the same.”  
“It is very true what you say, though I'd never heard it from a man,” Olivia agreed with wondered eyes. “You are a rare gentleman. Where are you from?” “From Duke Orsino, madam,” he answered aware that wasn’t the information she looked for.  
“I mean your origins. Who are your parents?” “Better people than I'd deserve, for sure they had no idea they were growing this tare along their wheat”. “Why would you say so of yourself?” Olivia questioned as if pittying the boy.  
“I know myself if nothing else. I am not what I am. My master’s love, your affection, I'm undeserving of all those blessings, but I'm also too greedy to open your or his eyes any more than by these words.”  
“What evil could you have done? I’m sure you’re being too hard on yourself. Did you kill anyone in your homeland? I'm sure you had reason.” Cesario let a sad chuckle out. “My lady truly must love me if she's willing to overlook my crimes and concoct motives for them. But if anyone died in my account it was out of negligence not sword or poison.” He thought of the crone and her wink, according to her words Viola was not dead yet, but in desperate need of his embrace.  
“Your words are cryptical, but your eyes are pure. If you fear your master's reaction, know that with me you'll need not his protection,” Olivia promised as she gripped tighter on his hand. “Lady, a dream would be a better lover. If I could love you, I'd be luckiest man who’s ever lived, but I'm too incomplete to love, which you deserve in full.”  
“What’s missing? You’re perfect!” she disagreed. “You’re young and believe love a prision as young men do, but all men must find a wife at some point. Why wait?”  
Cesario freed his hand from her and brought it to his head like the other. “It’s not your love I fear, lady, but the harm you'd come to. I must leave and let your senses come to you. Orsino's the best match in Illyria, do what your brother would’ve preffered,” he adviced.  
“You never knew my brother,” she said in distant and sad voice. “Would he have wished anything but the best for you?” Cesario questioned.  
“Orsino isn’t the best for me. His belief that he loves me would only disapoint him when he found me human. He'd love me less by the hour, and there are too many hours in 'untill death do you part'.” Cesario got caught by her eyes during that speech. “You on the other hand wouldn’t love me in the first hour, but would think of me as yours; I'd be loving and you'd be glad for it; I'd learn your prefferences and you’d be happier because I'd make sure you always had them; I'd give you children you'd love more than you think it’s possible, and make sure they revered you as I do, and when you finally thought about it, you'd come to realize you had loved me since before you knew it.” She touched his cheek and the boy was brought back to reality, knowing he should but not actually wanting to pull away from her. “Why do you cry, my heart?” Olivia said in a sweet voice that Cesario felt could hurt his soul if he had one.  
“I envy you that you'll have what you picture. I won’t. This blessing I'll never have, not from you or anyone. It’s impossible,” he lamented with all his heart.  
“May I break this curse,” Olivia wished, joining her hands on the back of Cesario’s head and pressing her moist lips on his, rapidly ending in a smack sound. “Think about me,” she pushed him away with open palms on his chest. “I’ve added you to my prayers, and your twin siblings's souls as well,” she said in guise of farewell.  
“My lady’s too kind,” Cesario answered as he bowed and and steped back from the room.  
He managed to contain all other tears he might have, but as soon as his boys saw him, they knew: “Were crying, boy?” they were mostly worried but a bit judgemental. “She knows how to kill with words, that one,” he didn’t exactly lie. “You cried in front of her?” now it was mostly amusement for them, only a slight note of worry, not necessarily for him.  
“You have no idea what she said!” he still didn’t lie. “What did she say?” one asked rather enthusiastically. “Use your own words if you mean to make me cry,” he barked.  
“You didn’t ruin it, though, did you?” Valentine asked sounding surprisingly more concerned with the job than Cesario’s shame. “Did she ban you from her house?”  
“On the contrary,” Cesario disdained. “She had a great time, and will do it again gladly whenever the Duke sends me back,” he complained. That wasn’t a lie either, not really, but “it” meant something different than the men thought.  
Now they were laughing, relieved that he didn’t ruin it for the master. They weren’t completely careless of his feelings either. They ordered some sweet mulled drink for him that really was more soothing than the others he'd known. But it would make him as drunk as any if he had another.  
*  
There was a joke in the kitchen that all the staff wanted Olivia as mistress, because a talent such as making Cesario cry just with words was too precious to go to waste. The boy feigned shame rather than heart-ache at the story, and hoped it'd wear itself out. There was only one unexpected coment about it:  
“What’s this story that my lady has abused you?” Orsino asked the following night, when they were alone. “My lord?” Cesario sounded convincingly ignorant. “I can hear as much as any in this house, boy. What’s that the others are giggling about like girls?” the Duke inquired.  
“It’s not like that, master. But if it were, what’s the harm? I'm just the messenger, it’s not me she must take seriously but you.”  
Orsino nodded his lowered head slowly as if Cesario was convincing him, but after a short silence he snapped back to his usual posture. “No, you're not just any messenger,” he said in dark tone that startled his pageboy. “I’d be torn to discover she mistreated you.”  
That simple but vague promise hurt Cesario just as much as Olivia’s descriptions of marital love. He managed to keep his composure though. What he didn’t do was stop his questioning of what was wrong with him. Lately he'd been so fragile, tempted to give into his darkness though always glad later that he didn’t.  
“The countess said some lovely words about how she believes a man comes to love a woman, and a beautiful picture she made too. That’s what made me cry. All I told the boys was they had no idea what she said. They made up the rest,” the boy revealed.  
Orsino nodded once, solemn and satisfied. “And how she believes a man comes to love a woman?” he asked, more amused than curious.”I wish I could repeat her very words, but the gist was that the small things in time amount to great deal of good feelings that one comes to recognize as love.”  
“That’s just what you'd expect from a woman as virtuous as her,” the Duke said, sounding somewhat proud. “What do you mean, my lord?” Cesario asked to confirm his expectation.  
Orsino laughed at the boy's question and explained: “A wanton woman wouldn’t wait for love to grow but would follow passion here and there, instead." “So a wanton woman is like Valentine!” he joked, making his master laugh and get tears in his eyes, and delighted on that.  
Internally he wondered at the unfairness of it. So Olivia was a wanton woman because she loved Cesario? Not that loving him would do her any good, but it was appalling that she had to conceal her prefferences in order to be virtuous. If those words about virtue and wantonness were true, what was he?  
*  
In the solitude of his bedroom he was surprised and called himself an idiot to be surprised that Viola's curse found him. What did you expect, you idiot? To fool God? You hardly fool men. You can’t even pass a hand checking from a crone.  
He found some cloth to hold the bleeding between his legs (Viola’s legs, he told himself, that was not him!). That night he cried himself to sleep over the impossibility of love. Who would ever love a creature as twisted as him? Olivia’s love sure wouldn’t stand that, and even in the unlikely chance it did, it would rob her of too much: children, strong arms to hold her and in one slip the respect of all Illyria.  
But if Orsino knew his body had all the endowments that his craved, Cesario was dead either way. The Duke could chase him away, expose him as Viola, he could do much worse if he felt like it, he wouldn’t even have to hide it: everyone would agree it was well deserved. But even if he decided he did like Viola, that would still be only half of them. Cesario didn’t want to go back into hiding and being laughed at just for existing. No! Viola was in full view all of those years, it was his turn under the sun. But there was no sun out at that hour, so he closed his wet eyes and sobbed a little before losing consciousness.  
*  
He noticed a pattern in which Orsino would always take time to present him to a notion, take him to a place, or engage in some activity if it was something Cesario showed interest in his master’s stories. He tried that as much as possible, and every new distraction also brought new stories, those full of options for Cesario’s picking at what to show interest in. They played sports, gambled, went to plays and shows, got drunk, got sober, got philosophic, got hungry, got confused, but never got tired of each other's company.  
Orsino was kept too busy to be sorrowful. He actually delayed Cesario’s next visit to Olivia for weeks, busy with showing himself off to his pageboy. The staff didn’t pretend not to know Cesario was responsible for the keeping of Orsino’s ballanced mood for so long. Some days things seemed about to culminate in darkness, but without even knowing what he did, Cesario would pull his master back to his feet and Orsino would take as a quest whatever it was Cesario wanted.  
In times like this the staff would sigh in relief and later drink to the boy's health in the kitchen. The cook would give him sweets, Curio would thank the gods loudly in the kitchen, the men showed respect for him, and even Valentine said he needed to do something good for him in thanks. The problem was just the definition of good.  
“This way to my thanks,” Valentine led as they took turns in narrow streets and alleys. “Why this way?” the boy wondered never having been to that part of town. The rest of the men just laughed. “Because that’s where it is,” Valentine argued.  
And then the entered a very costly looking brothel.  
*  
Sebastian walked in to find Viola wearing his clothes and being manly in small gestures before the mirror. He almost hesitated at the sight of her huge smile, but he made himself exchange the surprise on his face with a concerned frown.  
“Viola, this has to stop,” he said from the heart. “But no one can see, and it's so fun!” she whined. “I bet that's what you thought before I walked in,” Sebastian deduced with his hand out for his hat back.  
Viola’s hand wavered. He took the hat and proceeded to put it away. She sighed. The twins had often changed in front of each other so at first the girl didn’t understand what her brother was so horrified at. “You’re going to hurt yourself!” He touched the skin on her back, just above the edge of the bindings. “It’s too tight. Why do you do that to yourself?” “It’s harder when there’s no one to help,” she said pouting.  
“This has to stop, sister,” Sebastian insisted, runnig his finger tips on the red dents left on her skin. “You’re too grown up now for this,” as he said those words, his hand cupped her breast.  
“That’s not what happened!” Viola protested, realizing that had happened before. “It’s a dream, isn’t it?” she asked her brother. A mocking laughter came out of Sebastian. “Are you mad, Viola?”  
*  
Cesario opened his eyes startled. What was that? He felt terrible. It was his punishment for going after Valentine and the others. Suddenly he realized his room was too bright and the house too noisy: he had overslept.  
The Duke looked amused to Cesario’s surprise. Was he not suposed to be at the very least offended at his tardiness? He knew! It was the only explanation.  
“Good morning, my lord.” Orsino aknowleged his words with a nod but otherwise looked focused on something else. “Come now, Cesario. Days may seem endless in your short years but just by never being the same they play their trick on us, there's much to do”.  
And Cesario was happy to follow his Duke anywhere. Unfortunately that wasn’t the plan. They had only a little time together in which Orsino instructed him on what to say to Olivia and their ways would part soon. Before he went, though, he addressed the Duke’s persistent smile: “Did you get good news, my lord?”  
Orsino looked confused by the very notion of good news. “The only good news I'll ever get will be from Olivia and it will probably be brought by you.” His hand rested on the boy's shoulder as he spoke. “Maybe this will be the day” he added hopefully now with an arm around both Cesario’s sholders.  
“Maybe it will, master” Cesario agreed, consumed by the guilt of enjoying so much his lord's warm embrace.  
*  
All the flattery felt in Olivia’s interest was some unexpected prize, not what he went there to collect but pleasant to find anyway. Cesario had known before he arived at Olivia's things wouldn’t go as his master wished. The lady's atention went to Cesario and had no interest in the Duke. Still he came back to her, insisting she should listen to Orsino.  
Cesario had never had anyone telling him how handsome he was. Maybe Orsino, but the Duke always made it clear he was pretty like a girl. Olivia never added that “like a girl” part. So when the countess kissed him, Cesario fell into a conflict of interests.  
Cesario loved his Duke and for that reason didn’t like to woo Olivia in his name. Other men seeing they’d gotten the lady’s favor to themselves might've done all in their means to guarantee a marriage with her and a comfortable life for the rest of their days. Cesario found himself very unable to marry Olivia or anyone for that matter. Making this match was the best chance he had for success.  
All those things were firm in his mind until Olivia kissed him. Her lips were soft like petals and in such close proximity it was impossible not to notice her skin was scented like roses and powder. “Do you love me?” she inquired, pushing him away. “I do” Cesario answered in desperation, bringing his lips back to Olivia, not knowing anything but the overwhelming desire to die in her arms. “Swear you love me” she demanded.  
The distance suddenly put between them, the return of air to Cesario’s lungs, the clarity that came back to his head, all of those things made him say: “I can't” and run away from Olivia.  
*  
Had he said he loved her? Oh, no good would ever come of that. He walked back to Orsino’s in doubt, not remembering to look for his friends. What was he to tell his master? What kind of stupid matchmaker was he? What was he thinking? Well, he hadn’t been thinking at all. He had never been kissed before. At least not unrelated to curse breaking or make believe marriages to Messaline girls who would much rather be married to Sebastian. Sebastian, if you were here, it should be simpler. But it wouldn’t.  
Had Sebastian been there, he would never have allowed Cesario to walk the streets of Illyria and seek employment with the Duke. If Sebastian were here, Viola would have followed and obeyed him, even if his ideas were worse than hers. But the twins never made it to Illyria, only Cesario. He had been nothing but Viola’s and Sebastian’s laughing stock before the wreckage. Yes, even sweet Viola believed him to be ridiculous before Cesario saved her life. Well, sort of. Was Viola even alive anymore? Maybe she was now like sleeping beauty, not dead, not alive, definately more alive than Sebastian, but not living. He was now all there was left of the two, all of his father's children, all his sons and daughters.  
“Why so worried, master Cesario?” a playful voice asked.  
Rising from his thoughts, the boy found himself before Feste, Lady Olivia’s fool, who could be frequently seen at Orsino’s. He should've asked for Feste's aid, not Cesario’s.  
“How do you stand not knowing anything except when it's too late?” was what Cesario said in answer.  
“Why, it's every fool's job to laugh at what troubles most men and to flee from every oportunity to be better” he gladly explained with a hand on Cesario’s shoulder. “Of course when thought insists on occurring in this head, like most men I find comfort in wine”.  
That’s when Cesario realized Feste's hand had been guiding him into a tavern. He suposed he could pay the fool a drink, ask for a song in return and delay his own fate. He didn’t count on Feste insisting it was all for nothing if he was too preocupied to apreciate.  
“A drink will help”, the fool sugested. “So drink to my health", Cesario pushed the drink towards the fool. “Then it will help me. I meant if you have the drink it will help you worry less”.  
Cesario drank. He didn’t feel any difference but knew if he mentioned that Feste would make him drink more until he made a fool of himself. That had happened to Sebastian in the ship. Feigning a smile, he turned to Feste: “How about a song now?”  
The fool complied. By the time he finished, Cesario felt a lot better. He complimented Feste on his song and was about to leave when the fool sugested he should sing a song now.  
“Not me” Cesario was quick to stop the idea from growing. Songs were Viola's element. Too dangerous, he told himself.  
“A funny song,” sugested the fool. “No man resists joining a song that mocks his betters. Let's sing a song about a Duke who'd send a boy woo his love in his stead.” “What’s that now?” Cesario grabbed his wrist as if he had any idea how to fight. Feste however kept his playful act. “Another song then? A love song is sure to soothe an aching heart. We'll sing of lovers that can never be and weep together. What about that?”  
“I don't have an aching heart” Cesario still protested though much less angrily. “And anyway I don't see how crying is suposed to soothe us”.  
“In this case, what do you think of a mourning song?” “Have you lost your mind?” Cesario protested again. “Long ago,” Feste admited. “ So there’s no problem if you join me in a sad song about a brother and a sister who lose a father just so the same sister loses her brother and wishes nothing but to mourn him, except she has much else on her plate”.  
“What is your problem, fool?” Cesario yelled in anger, shoving Feste out of his way.  
“Why, I must say right now you're my problem, young sir.” His answer was made as he quickly regained his ballance and went after Cesario in the street. “Is the last song so much worse than the first?” the fool asked for his opinion.  
“Who is the last song about?” the boy asked calmly now.  
“Why, my lady Olivia of course. Whom else could I be singing about?”  
“Whom else really?” Cesario agreed, thinking how silly it was to think Feste knew his story.  
“You didn’t ask me about the second song” the fool reminded him.  
“The lovers that can never be? I thought you were making fun of me”.  
“I live to make fun but not only of those who would laugh at me. I also make fun of myself,” Feste explained with less smiling than usual.  
“So you too have a love that cannot be?” Cesario asked for confirmation. “Will you tell me about it?”  
“No”. The fool laughed at himself and then at Cesario’s surprise. “I might sing about it if you bring me to your master's house and treat me kindly”.  
Cesario laughed hard at the sugestion and placed his arm across Feste’s shoulders, as though leadind the way. “Moments like this hurt more than most,” the clown commented.  
Cesario looked his way, waiting for the fool to explain himself like he always did. Feste said nothing but kissed Cesario’s lips gently before he looked away.  
“This can never be” Cesario declared.  
“I'm not a fool because I don't know that. I'm a fool because I keep hoping, even though there’s no chance”.  
*  
When Orsino sent for Cesario to be brought to him, the boy was a little more relaxed because of drinking. He still had Feste in tow. His master was delighted to hear that the fool had a beautiful song to sing.  
“It’d be a better one if Cesario agreed to join me in singing,” the fool insisted on getting the boy to sing.  
“Do you sing, Cesario?” the Duke’s eyes shone with delight as he asked.  
“Not me, my lord”, the boy answered defensivly.  
“But he may be persuaded to fight for a good cause”, Feste added.  
Cesario laughed and pushed the fool gently away. When he turned again to face the Duke, the boy found him less than amused. Confused, he turned to the clown and ordered: “Well, then, let's hear your song.”  
“Yes, let's hear this song you praise so highly”, Orsino agreed, still far from amused. He pointed the seat next to himself, meaning Cesario should join him. When Feste was out of earshort readying himself to sing, the Duke looked more playfully at Cesario and began a new subject: “Now, tell me, boy, is it true what the others say? Did you flee adventure last night?”  
Oh, God, he knew! Maybe not the big secret but the shameful flight of the previous night. “Not from adventure, my lord. Never from adventure. But that entails the unknown, while last night's entertainment was a sure destination,” Cesario clarified.  
“And what destination is that if I may inquire”, the Duke insisted, now as amused as if listening to a good joke.  
“Hell, my lord”, Cesario answered sounding so much like that was his true worry it made him proud. Which was just as well, men who spoke of damnation often took pride in the virtues they so strongly believed came from it.  
“Were you raised in faith?” the Duke asked still very amused.  
“Very much so”, Cesario answered, it wasn’t a lie, only an exageration of facts.  
“And as a child didn’t you preffer your games to the ways of the faith?”  
Well, now Orsino was going to trick him with words. That much was clear. If only he knew what his master was about to say, he could work an answer. As it was, Cesario could only admit Orsino had guessed right.  
“And didn’t your elders instruct you to favor their teachings to your own desires?”  
How was he going to twist that into “you should visit brothels with my men”, Cesario didn’t know but there was the Duke to keep on: “Now my men and I are your elders. Isn't it just fair that you trust us to know what's best?”  
Well, there it was and Cesario felt like the only one embaressed by the explanation. “Your words sound perfectly rational to my mind but my heart remains unconvinced”, was all Cesario had time to put together as an answer.  
“Your heart, boy?” he laughed. “Then perhaps you've been lying all along.” Now he was laughing at Cesario’s shocked face. “When our hearts refuse company other than the one they crave, that's not faith speaking. One holds a place in your heart? It's no shame, no reason to hide behind faith or pride. Love deserves celebration!”  
In a way it went much better than Cesario would've expected. The Duke wasn’t laughing at him anylonger. There was something he respected more than faith and it was love. He shouldn't have been so surprised to be honest, it suited all he knew about his master.  
That night Orsino had Cesario in his cups like Feste wanted earlier, and sure enough got him to join in singing. The fear his voice would come out too high pitched forgotten about two cups before. Still he was the most sober when the night came to its end.  
Orsino was unballanced and laughing at himself by now. “Come, Cesario,” he placed an arm around the boy's shoulders. “Help me to my chambers”. And so he did. He could never have carried the Duke on his own, but Orsino was doing most of the work, he just needed steering so as not to crash against the walls and end tables. He also needed some reminding that stairs were suposed to be climbed up and not gone through. Why Cesario wasn’t more disappointed at this behaviour he didn’t know.  
When they got to Orsino’s bed Cesario couldn’t help his amazement at the room's main feature. It could fit many but it probably never lived to its full potential. On the other hand it was very naive to think he slept alone. All the thought dedicated to the bed worked against thinking of Orsino taking off his shirt.  
“Do I have your leave to go, my lord?” Cesario panicked. All his thoughts had become more or less the same and they were very dangerous, each one them. “Not yet”, the Duke answered to his despair. Why not? “Help me off these boots", he instructed.  
“Of course”, Cesario complied, his voice cracking in relief and nervous laughter.  
He was on his knees pulling the first boot off when Orsino asked: “Do you have any sisters, Cesario?” Ice went down his spine. What kind of a question was that? “I’m my own sister, my lord, and my own brother too”, was Cesario’s answer, and a truer one than any other he could think of. “That’s too bad, she would’ve been a pretty girl if she looked like you.” The Duke yawned right after speaking and let himself fall onto his back on the matress.  
The second boot came off and Cesario was quickly back to his feet.  
“I could be your brother”, the Duke said with his eyes half closed. Was that an offer, Cesario wondered. “I think I'd hate to have my brother as master”, he answered. He knew it was an honest feeling but one he never shared with Viola.  
“Good night, Cesario” Orsino wished pulling off his pants.  
Cesario quickly looked away. “Good night, my lord.” Curiosity got the best out of him, though, and before he was out of the room Cesario took a glance and saw his master playing with himself. He fled.  
*  
His room was very small but it was the only solitude he had these days. As he stripped out of his clothes, many thoughts came flooding back. Olivia’s lips, her delicate, feminine, nostalgic scent. Orsino’s hand on his shoulders. Orsino’s hand on himself. The last one inspired him.  
There was narrow mirror in his room. He went to it and took off his bindings and smallclothes. That wasn’t his body, he realized in anger. That was the body he'd sworn to protect. It was Viola's, not his. Ashamed he put out the light and climbed under his covers.  
Once there, though, a new thought ocurred to him: fuck Viola. She'd never cared for him all that much. Viola dragged him down with her subservience to Sebastian and her dreams of becoming a wife. What did he care for Viola?  
Fuck Viola, he thought as his hands went to her nipples and opened Viola's lady parts to a study she herself had never had the guts to do. Fuck Viola, he said to himself as he discovered that sweet spot and tried it over and over. Stop it this instant, Viola said in outrage in a very distant corner of his mind. Fuck you, Cesario answered, rubbing faster and harder between her legs.  
He concentrated on his memories of Olivia and her kiss, of Orsino’s body against his and his arm around his shoulders, of Feste’s unwanted but respectful advances, of Orsino’s hand on himself. That started a firewhirl on his belly (Viola's belly?) that soon had him in glorious defeat. As his breaths became longer, sleep claimed him.  
*  
In his dream they were washed up on some shore together and the shipwreck was still visible. What caught his eye though was Sebastian lying on the sand dead. He wouldn’t be needing that body, so Cesario plundered it, not only his clothes but his body itself.  
Now he had a man’s body and one that fit so well for that matter, he went for Viola. She was just sitting there crying but irresistable. He forced himself on top of her and ripped off her clothes before actually defiling her.  
“You’re hurting me!” she cried.  
“You wanted it” he growled in a dark, low voice. “No!” Viola protested with all her might. “Didn’t you always want to belong to a man? Here I am. Now you're mine.” He made sure to hurt her more while saying those words.  
“Not you!” she protested. “Never you, you monster! Orsino!” she admited.  
“He's mine!” Cesario screamed enraged, joining both hands to punch her face repeatedly.  
She wasn’t under him anymore, rather curled into herself, weeping, naked and bleeding, much to Cesario’s pleasure. “I can't stand this,” she said. “I hate you!” she cried. “I wish I were with Sebastian and not you!”  
“Well, go with Sebastian, do the both of us a favor. I don’t want you either. I'll be better off. Everyone loves Cesario, I don’t need your love. I hate you, too!”  
“I should’ve gone to a priest the first time you spoke!” she cried harder.  
*  
He woke up to that sentence repeating itself in his head. “I should’ve gone to a priest the first time you spoke”, Viola's crying voice said over and over. The memory of the dream hit Cesario in a wave of shame. Maybe Viola was right and he was some kind of demon she should’ve had purged out of her. Well, too late. Viola would never be in control again to do that. Cesario'd be the new master of that body.  
When he got to his feet, he looked over the bed for signs of a forcefully taken maidenhood but that part had only been the dream he realized. Looking down was the body he’d made shake in pleasure in the night (somewhere in the back of his mind Viola pleaded “No more”, and shame washed over him again). Getting dressed felt weird. Had clothes always felt like an intimate touch? Had the nipples always reacted so sensitively to the binding of the breasts? Well, better to ignore it, he thought to himself.  
As he made his way through the halls, Viola was on his mind. The memory of the dream came back to haunt him. Viola crying, naked and bleeding. It was his fault. It'd felt good in the dark, in his sleep, but now it made him guilty. He didn’t really want her dead, or believe he'd be better off. He did hate her when she thought Cesario the embodiment of sin, or when she joined Sebastian on laughing at him. But were those things her fault? Maybe Viola had been excessivly obedient of the men in her life, but was that really her fault? What else could a girl be expected to do? But he was no girl. He could own his decisions and make them with himself in mind. Why in the world would Viola want to go back to her life? This life you built is a lie, she said in his thoughts. Well, so were yours, at least I tell my own lies instead of waiting for some man to tell me the God who made me is displeased at His own work and that's my fault somehow. Now shut up.  
He met with Orsino and had a hard time not thinking of the previous night and getting the Duke to his bed. His master beckoned him to get closer and had his very familiar hand on his shoulder by the time they started talking.  
He mentioned the song of the previous night and took some time reminding Cesario it was old and not at all Feste's creation. He'd been fooled about that part and could’ve sworn the clown had claimed the song his own. Come to think about it, if you're telling people a song older than yourself is your creation, best tell it to children and foreigners like Cesario. The Duke made it pretty clear though he loved the song, it wasn’t Feste's. He probably didn’t want Cesario to be made a fool of.  
Orsino was telling him how listening to the song the night before had been a relief to his passion. More than wine and that other thing? Cesario wondered to himself. He said nothing in response because it was already hard enough to hide this thoughts in silence. Maybe he'll love you if you let me sing for him, Viola intruded his mind. Don't be stupid, he can't love you. But we love him! But he loves Olivia. I could make him love me. Sure, and pretend I don't exist too. Just shut up, you hear me?  
And the internal dialogue gave way to an actual conversation with Orsino. He wanted to know whom Cesario loved. You, he thought. “What’s she like?” the Duke inquired. She, Cesario laughed internally. “Like you”, Viola answered before he could stop her. Yet Orsino didn’t hear what she was so obviously saying.  
He went on to explain why Cesario should find a love younger than himself. That men are too fickle to see a woman age and not lose interest. Viola withdrew all of a sudden, and Cesario felt bad for her. Somewhere, very deep, beyond the boy's thoughts, Viola hid, crying herself into oblivion. It's alright, Viola, he said in his mind, you're younger than him. Nothing. Are you dead, Viola? Nothing.  
Luckly there was Feste's singing to get his atention. It didn’t last long though. As soon as it was over, Orsino started talking about Cesario going to Olivia's and telling her of his master's love.  
“What if she can't return your love?” Cesario sugested, trying to prepare him for the blow. “I won't take that answer”, he replied very confident in his words.  
Don't be absurd, Cesario wanted to say. “But what if a woman loved you as much as you love Olivia. You can't love her. Won't she have to take that answer?” Won't Viola have to take that?  
“Women aren't strong enough to love this hard. A woman's ribs would burst if her heart beat this powerfully.” “I beg to differ”, said Cesario, looking for signs of Viola within. “I know it's not so. Love's all there is for women, when that's denied nothing is left for them.”  
“And how do you know?” the Duke questioned, not very used to being disagreed with by his own men.  
“I--my father had a daughter who loved a man like I might love you if I were a woman.” You hear that, Viola? I just said if were a woman, it’s your favorite Cesario joke. Laugh for the love of God!  
“And what happened to her?” the Duke asked, hooked for a story.  
“Nothing, my lord”, it was true. “She never made her love known and he never noticed her. She patiently waited for love to desert her, instead it became grief. Wasn’t it love? Not pretty words made to sway another's heart but a mighty thing that punishes those of poor fortune.”  
There was sadness in Orsino’s eyes as he listened to those words. The Duke looked pained. “But did she die of love? Your sister, I mean”, he asked like he cared. Look, Viola, he cares.  
“I'm all the daughters of my father’s house, and all the brothers too; but I don't know.” For a second something changed in Orsino’s eyes, like he suddenly spotted danger, then he looked down as if dismissing the thought, and when he looked again at Cesario, his eyes were full of the same caring as before the story' end. In an atempt to escape the atraction they had on him, the boy changed the subject: “Should I go to Olivia’s, then?”  
*  
He met Feste in the street by his lady’s house. He was acting like he didn’t know the boy who’d rejected his kiss the previous evening, and that was probably the reason, since he said he didn’t care for Cesario and would make him invisible if he could. Cesario played along. “Aren’t you lady Olivia's fool?”  
“My lady doesn't have a fool. One day, when she’s married, that man shall be her fool”. Good one, Feste, Cesario thought but pretended to be imune to the joke. “So who are you, then, Not-Lady-Olivia's-Fool?”  
“I’m her corruptor of words”. Of course you are, Cesario smiled. “But surely you understand it’s a fool’s job to mimic the sun and shine everywhere, on your master as much as on my mistress.”  
These are very corrupted words, Cesario thought to himself. “Here you go” he handed Feste money for his corruption. “That’s very generous, I hope good things come your way. Like a beard on your face, maybe”. “I supose I do need one. I don’t think it would become me though. What do you think?”  
“I think you were generous enough that I wish you well, but not so much that I want to tell you lies.”  
“Fine there you go.”  
“Never grow a beard. Stay beautiful forever”, said the clown. “There’s a very ominous double meaning to what you're saying”, Cesario complained. “I could give it as many meanings as I'm paid to.” “Forget it. It’s only bound to get worse.”  
“As all things”, Feste observed mater-of-factly. “But I must insist, knowing I'll spend this in my drinks, and knowing drinking even numbers is bad luck, why would you wish me bad luck, when I only wish you well?”  
“You wished me premature death!” Cesario corrected bursting into laughter. “There’s lots of good in an early death”, the fool defended himself. “Meeting the Maker and never worrying about metaphysics again, for one. Not having time to condemn your soul. Leaving behind a pretty corpse: can you imagine the delight of the maggots?”  
“Enough!” Cesario interrupted horrified that he wanted to laugh at that. “There, an odd number for you. Just stop it.”  
“Being paid not to work is even sweeter than in exchange for work”, Feste declared. “Now let me tell my lady you're here.” And left him at the garden.  
While waiting he met Sir Toby and his friends. The man disliked him, it was obvious, and the entourage followed him. He didn’t seem so likable now, and it wasn't really that fun to find himself agreeing with Malvolio, the sour man. It didn’t matter though. Soon Olivia was there and had them all leave.  
She took his hand and looked worriedly at Cesario. “Have you told anyone?” he simply shook his head, unable to break from her gaze. “What have you done to me? This isn't me.”  
“Well, this isn’t me either, but it’s all I can be.”  
“What’s your name?” she asked with eyes filled with wonder.  
All of this confusion had gone without he even telling her his name? He knew what his problem was, what was Olivia’s? “Cesario, your servant”, he introduced himself.  
“Not mine. You're Orsino’s servant”, she said heavily.  
“And he’s yours. Your servant's servant is your servant too”, Cesario concluded.  
“I don't care about Orsino. Have you bewitched me? What’s happening? I'm never like this.”  
“I don't know any more than you about what has passed. I'm sorry for upsetting you, it was never my intention”, Cesario apologized.  
“I don't blame you”, she clarified. “I blame myself. I was ready to resist manhood's displays of power, but not youth and wit. It’s my own fault I can't resist you too.”  
Their whole time together was like that. She acused and forgave, told him to leave and to stay more than once. Before he left though she swore her love, it sounded as painful as Orsino’s love for her. As painful as Viola’s and his own love for Orsino.  
“You think I'm better than I am, my lady. I'm undeserving of your love”, Cesario tried to make her see.  
“But I'm giving it to you freely, you don't have to earn my love.” Free love should be sweeter than love worked for, according to Feste’s logic, so why did it feel like standing at the beach before a giant wooden horse? “There's no room in my heart for a mistress and I fear there never will be, it can't fit a woman, only me”. Olivia didn’t really know what that last part meant, but Viola did: in their joint depths she stired.  
“Maybe a change will happen in your heart if you come back tomorrow”, Olivia offered.  
Cesario doubted that but his master would certainly send him back.  
*  
“What news, Cesario?” the Duke inquired excitedly as soon as he laid eyes on his pageboy.  
“I’ve spoken to the lady and told her of your undying love”, was the best piece of news he had. As soon as the next questions came, the answers were likely to get worse. “And what’s her answer?” he demanded impatiently. “She’ll have none of it, my lord”, Cesario informed in low spirits.  
There was a disappointed “Oh” that never left his mouth and hung there for a while. After a big sigh and a few deep breaths, he managed to change his expression and go on about his plans: “Did she tell you not to come back?” On the contrary, Cesario thought. “No, my lord, nothing like that.” “So you'll be there tomorrow", it was decided.  
But after that the master remained silent except for his sighs, lost in thought, visibly broken. It pained Cesario to see him like that. He wanted to be able to make it all better for him, say he didn’t need Olivia’s love, he could have his, or Viola's, or both.  
Please, let me! Viola begged. What are you going to do about it? “Master, would you like me to sing a song to you?” she asked pretending to be Cesario.  
“So you do sing”, Orsino smiled and looked her in the eye. “Yes, let's hear your song. I hope it’s as lovely as its singer.”  
Viola kept smiling at him for a moment too long. “What are you waiting for?” he asked impatiently getting Viola out of her daze.  
She sang and for the moment Orsino was captured. His smile grew more genuine, his eyes became warmer and more loving - - and watery? He aplauded enthusiastically when it was over. “Beautifully sung! Bravo!” he praised going to Cesario, taking his face in his hands and kissing both his cheeks.  
Viola was about to explode in happiness. “I’m glad you like it, my lord”, she said in shallow breaths and sweats. “It touched my heart”, Orsino confessed, his hand stroking Viola's hair. If she died now, she'd die happily. The Duke’s hand cupped Viola’s chin and lifted her face, staring at her. “That’s the second time I hear you singing and only a day ago you told me you don't sing. Are you in the habit of lying, Cesario?”  
The boy was caught unprepared by his master's move. He couldn’t look away now. “My lord, last night was the first time I sang since my brother's death.” Cesario hoped the truth in that statement was enough for Orsino. “How long has it been?” he went on interrogating though he already sounded much less intense.  
“Three months, my lord. It happened right before I arrived in Illyria.” Now he wanted to look away not to lie but to hide his vulnerability. Orsino allowed that, letting go of his face and placing his hands on his shoulders. “It’s still recent, I see”, said the Duke in grave but comforting voice. “I apologize for bringing it up. Don't suffer too much for him, though”, Orsino adviced. “We do more justice to the memory of our loved ones by living.”  
Cesario nodded. He was going so well holding back his tears, but it all went out the window when Orsino hugged him, carressing the back of his head. Grief and desire started a battle in his heart. He put his arms around Orsino and let his tears spill.  
“It’s truly not the dead we cry for, they’re in a better place, no doubt. It’s us that are left behind who need tears to let the pain out, and live life in order to heal.” Cesario was embarassed by his tears, but it was impossible to stop them now. He tried to take deep breaths in order to calm himself. When Orsino undid his embrace, he still had his hands on Cesario’s shoulders, looking at him closely. “You have my leave to go”, said the Duke.  
He wanted to pray for Sebastian’s soul, but Cesario probably wasn’t welcome at Church. Not that anyone would stop him, but God in all likelyhood didn’t want Cesario at His house.  
He went to his bedroom, and instead of praying to God, prayed to Sebastian himself. He told him of his insecurities and worries. “What am I going to do about Viola, Sebastian? You may be in Heaven with mother and father, but she’s in Limbo. If you won't help me, help her.”  
When he fell asleep, Viola had a dream: Sebastian was rowing a small boat on a beautiful lake she sometimes dreamt of. He rocked the boat to tease her. “Stop it!” she chided. “Why are you so worried? I know you can swim”, Sebastian said rocking the boat even more, smiling teasingly. “I don't want to ruin my clothes”, she explained herself. Sebastian laughed. “They don't even fit anymore.”  
Then the storm came, tipped the boat over and took Sebastian away.  
Cesario opened his eyes alone in a small bedroom. It took a minute before he remembered his surroundings.  
*  
Not two weeks later came the strangest day of his and Viola’s life. It started with his master telling him to go to Olivia’s again. Viola would much rather stay with him and try to please him with songs, but Cesario both wanted Olivia's atention and his master's satisfaction, which he knew would come from his doing the job.  
As usual he was showered by Olivia's praises yet reprehended for not returning her love. She also told him she was afraid her madness had spread through the house more contagiously than her grief ever did. There was no explanation of what that meant but Cesario suspected it had something to do with that priest he'd seen about, who looked too much like Feste.  
The countess gave him yet another token of affection, a locket with her picture. There were no kisses this time, probably to ensure a quick return. “Come back tomorrow”, she said as Cesario left.  
He didn’t want to leave but he knew that once with Orsino he wouldn’t want to come back either. If both of them offered him love, he'd probably still go with his master. But he wouldn’t mind Orsino and Olivia if he could have both.  
He shook that silly notion out of his head, and took no more than two steps before he was aproached by lady Olivia's cousin sir Toby. He brought a challenge for a duel from another knight and the boy was confused at first that someone was offended at him, and fearful when he realized there was no mistake.  
His few lessons from signor Rinaldi wouldn’t do any good against a knight. Don't be a man, Viola adviced. But I am a man, Cesario thought, confused at the events. Run to Olivia, tell her what’s happening, Viola urged him.  
Fabian, who acompanied sir Toby, promised he'd dissuade sir Andrew Ague-cheek from the fight but when the knight aproached he had his sword drawn. Cesario began to reason with the man when a stranger came to his aid promissing the knight he would fight him in Cesario’s stead.  
Sir Andrew had barely done decline fighting when Orsino's officers came to arrest the man they called Antonio. “I must go with them, but give me my purse back and this won't take long”, he told Cesario.  
Was he telling Orsino’s most faithful servant he was going to bribe his men? With his money? But the man did save him from the knight. “If you want payment for your help, there you go”, he offered. “Dammit, boy, my purse, I need it!” he urged.  
“I have nothing of yours,” Cesario retorted, offended. “Why are you doing this to me, Sebastian? Am I not your friend?”  
“Did you say Sebastian?” the boy asked in shock.  
There was much shock in the man's eyes too, but the officers took him away before he could find out more.  
Cesario ran to Orsino for help. “Cesario!” Orsino shouted in delight at his pageboy's return. “How is Olivia today?”  
There was haste in his mind. No time to apreciate the gleam in his master’s eyes or the beauty of his smile. “Well, my lord. But a lot has happened and I do need your help to get it sorted out.”  
The Duke frowned. “Tell me”, he demanded wearing his most lordly face. He was angry to hear about the chalenge, and though Cesario noticed that, he didn’t have time to cherish it now. He told him about Antonio's assistance but not about the name Sebastian, it would be too painful. He couldn’t let himself be disappointed like that.  
“Where did this happen?” Orsino questioned, already on his feet. “Just outfront Olivia's”, he quickly answered. The Duke let out a pleased chuckle. “This ought to be good.”  
*  
It was time acusations were thrown. Orsino and the officers acused Antonio of piracy, he acused the Duke of missunderstanding him, and Cesario of pretending to be a close friend and betraying him in a time of need. He claimed the boy’s name was Sebastian. Orsino defended his pageboy's honor from those acusations and no one was satisfied.  
Then Olivia arrived. Cesario and Viola both wanted to lie down and die when they heard how Orsino praised the countess. But there was no time for that. He acused Olivia of being cruel, she acused him of not listening. And he didn’t. As she rejected him again and again, voicing out her frustration, a dark look came to Orsino’s face. “Some say it’s a wicked pleasure to kill the one you love”, he said. And to Cesario: “Let’s go.”  
But acusations weren’t over. “Cesario”, Olivia asked, “where are you going?” There was a very urgent tone to her voice. Suddenly he realized the lady would tell Orsino that he had said he loved her. That's why he was so hard on her in his answer: “I’m going with my master, whom I love more than I'll ever love a woman.”  
Olivia let out a shrill protest: “But you’re my husband!”  
“Husband?” both pageboy and Duke echoed. The first looking at his acuser, the latter at the acused.  
And just like that Orsino hated him. He steped away from the boy, his face demanding explanation. “I’m not her husband”, he swore. Olivia was furious. “Get the priest”, she comanded one of her servants. All the while both Orsino and Olivia stared at him in hatred.  
“I taught you well, master Cesario”, said Feste who’d been there the whole time, watching all the drama with a delighted smile on his face. “What’s that now, fool?” Olivia snapped. “I once pretended I didn’t know him when I did, today he played the trick on me. But I see he took it where I'd never dare.”  
"Shut up, Feste! I didn’t see you today, and didn’t get married!" he threw his frustration at the fool. "Wait, weren't you walking around dressed like a priest?"  
"Don't say that", Olivia shouted at Cesario. "We were married by the real priest, any idiot can see the difference."  
"I can't. I wasn't here", Cesario defended himself.  
But the priest arrived to confirm everything Olivia had said. Cesario didn’t understand. Was he being conned? By a holy man? That was preposterous. Was he mad, though, that he didn’t remember what he'd done? “When was that?” he asked the priest. “Not two hours ago.”  
“Two hours, my lord”, he enphasized. “I was asking for your help then, it wasn’t me.” But Orsino didn’t listen.  
He shot Cesario a cold, disgusted, glance, which broke the heart he and Viola shared. “Be a man!” Orsino said with despise. “Go to your lady and enjoy your life, just never come near me again.” And turned to leave but got curious when the cries for help were heard.  
That’s when sir Andrew arrived, in haste, asking assistence for sir Toby who’d been beaten worse than him. To the boy's surprise he was acused of beating Olivia’s cousin and the knight he never dueled. By then he didn’t know if his words still accounted for anything. It didn’t seem like they did.  
That’s when Sebastian got there. It had to be Sebastian. Who else could it be? But Sebastian was dead. Who was that? He didn’t notice the stares at first. He spoke to Olivia: “I’m sorry I hurt your cousin, but there was no other way to handle it, my lady.” He saw her face: “Oh, you are upset. I didn’t mean for that.”  
“What’s happening?” Olivia asked with a shocked face.  
“Two of the same”, Osrino anounced looking from Sebastian to Cesario with much more interest than a minute ago.  
Cesario looked at the new comer in shock. He wanted to go there and ask the man if he was his brother but he didn’t dare. His aproach could shake the dream away. Maybe it wasn’t a very good dream since everyone seemed to be forfeiting their love for him, but he'd never had a Cesario dream with Sebastian.  
“Is that really you, Sebastian?” Antonio asked the new comer.  
“Who else could I be?” the young man responded with certainty.  
“Him”, Feste pointed Cesario out and now the man looked at him in shock.  
He moved his hand like he expected him to be a reflection and move along, but Cesario was frozen. Don’t let him break your heart, it's just an evil coincidence, your brother is dead, Cesario told Viola. She wanted to cry but Cesario didn’t want to let himself feel that pain.  
“Are you related to me?” asked Sebastian closing the full distance between them before Cesario had decided that pain was worth feeling. “Where are you from? Who are your parents? If you and I related I must know.”  
“My father was Sebastian of Messaline”, he informed. “So was mine” Sebastian confirmed, looking worried. “I never had a brother, only a sister, but she died in shipwreck. It was three months ago”, Sebastian went on.  
It is him, Viola and Cesario told themself. Tears welled up in their eyes. What was Sebastian going to say when Cesario revealed himself as his sister? He who never really understood why his sister would put on his clothes and move around like him. He'd always condemned it.  
“I am Viola”, she finally admited, but something went silent in her thoughts, it was strange but so much was also happening inside and out she couldn’t split her atention so many ways.  
It seemed acusations weren’t over yet. Feste had a letter written by Malvolio acusing Olivia of having made a fool of by pretending to love him in some letter, and wrongly acusing him of madness. Viola knew nothing about that, but Sebastian was worried for Olivia and her heart went out to him. That’s why she didn’t notice Orsino until he was standing by her side, pretending to watch the rest of the confusion unfold itself.  
“Are you really a woman, Cesario?” he looked amused.  
Viola considered all the many reasons he had to be hurt, not just the deception, but Sebastian having married Olivia. So why he looked at her the way he did during an exciting chase while hunting?  
“I would like to see you as a woman”, he told her. “You would?” she didn’t expect that. “You did say you'd never love a woman like you love me.” “It is true”, she admited, blushing. He smiled.  
“You've called me master for so long, how would like to be your master's mistress?”  
Viola wanted to fling herself in his arms. She also wanted to tell him he hadn’t even seen her as woman to be making that sugestion. But maybe it was better that way. A husband who knew this other part of her and didn’t hate it was unimaginable before his proposal.  
“The sea captain who brought me to your house has my woman’s things. When you see Viola for yourself, you can decide.” “I already have”, he assured her.  
The sea captain had also been wrongfully imprisioned. He was glad to be free and happy to see Cesario. And even happier to see he'd been right: Sebastian did tie himself to mast and that had helped him float until he could be saved. He'd told Viola as much before their arrival in Illyria. It turned out he wasn’t just telling pretty lies.  
They followed him to his shack, where he'd kept Viola's things. The whole time they told pieces of their stories to one another, sharing what they knew. Orsino was talking less and less as they went, looking longingly Viola’s way. Sebastian on the other hand looked confused at his sister, not daring to touch her but not daring to look away either.  
Then she changed into her old clothes. The sea captain's shack had no mirror, she wasn’t sure what she looked like. It was probably not very good but she couldn’t tell. For a minute she just stood there dressed but not ready. Not really in the mood to come out.  
When she did, though, Sebastian ran to her and held her in a very long hug that made her cry and him to go silent lest he'd cry too. Now that she was Viola again the look on Sebastian's face was less confused. He held her in his arms with no awkwardness whatsoever.  
*  
The rest of the evening was lost in a succession of kisses from Orsino. They became less and less chaste each time they happened. The first one had some three month old urgency to it, so it had been no surprise the amount of need both of them felt.  
As soon as Viola left Sebastian's arms, there was no stopping Orsino. And if she was being honest, Viola had to admit she didn't want anyone interrupting. But they weren't alone then, rather the oposite.  
Olivia only cast short glanges her way quickly averting her gaze whenever their eyes met. She smiled, called her sister, and tried acting as if all confusion was already over, which it wasn't. But it would some day, they all hoped and Olivia apparently planned on being the first to get there.  
Then Orsino came along and maybe Viola had expected him to be disappointed, which explained why she hadn’t looked his way yet. For the shortest moment she imagined him bursting into laughter and even if it weren't the mean kind of laughter, it would still break her heart. There was no sport in his eyes though.  
Orsino's eyes looked bewildered at Viola. At the same time, he didn’t take those final steps between them. She hesitated. On the one hand she saw a gleam in his eyes that made him even more handsome than Viola already thought him. On the other hand who could blame Orsino if it had dawned on him the reality that he didn’t love her so much as to go on with that “be your master's mistress” he had sugested only an hour ago.  
Laughter did come but not from Orsino fortunately. Olivia had whispered something to Sebastian and now her brother sounded thoroughly amused. He stifled his laughter even though he couldn't contain a chuckle here and there.  
“What’s so funny?” Viola asked her twin. It felt like a confrontation, because she knew Sebastian like she knew herself and he was laughing at her in a vulnerable moment. Sure it was a happy day, a miraculous day even bringing people back from the dead and chaging pageboys to maids. Still, Sebastian should know how delicate a moment it was.  
“The ways of life and love” Sebastian said, eyeing Orsino, who was closing the distance between him and Viola with a step.  
“It’s most remarkable to find the Duke speechless”, Olivia noted. “Isn't it perfect that Viola has such a rare talent?”  
Viola did want to laugh at that. Her new sister-in-law was right: when had Orsino lost his words? But he took her hand in his during this short interaction without saying a word and kept smiling and looking her in the eye. Much was said in that look. Much more was implied in its refusal to be interrupted.  
That kiss was forgiven by the rest who pretended to see nothing. Orsino cupped her face in his hand, and touched her lips with his. He sucked her lower lip into his, making Viola feel about to die of happiness or something else she had no name for. And then it was over. He still had her hand in his but they were separated in every other way. It felt wrong.  
Sebastian and Olivia stood a lot closer in comparisson. Maybe the sacraments they'd been given earlier were the reason Olivia looked so at home with Sebastian’s arm around her. Surely if Orsino did that to her right now, Viola could never play along as nonchalantly as Olivia.  
“We must be married immediately”, he whispered and Viola had the feeling he could've said anything less lovely and she would still have worried her death was near.  
“We must indeed”, she agreed.  
Once they'd been blessed, Orsino kissed her again. He had his hands on her shoulders when their lips touched, his grip became firm and for some reason it added to the pleasure of having him cover her lips with his and lightly run the tip of his tongue on then. And once more it ended too soon.  
They had a feast in celebration, yet by the time they left, Viola couldn’t remember any of it except for the moment Orsino kissed her again. His tongue had entered her mouth made itself at home inside. She didn’t die but something not unlike pain struck her in places far from her mouth. Startled, she pulled away. There was so much desire in the Duke's eyes that even in her lack of experience she knew what it was.  
When they left Viola was led to a dressing room, where a maid helped her out of her dress and into a nightgown. She saw herself in a mirror and could only think she had that same look on her face the first time she saw Cesario looking back.  
The maid offered her a drink so as to ease her worries. She said a man's love might seem too much for a girl to take but for a woman it's what feels best. And a woman she was about to become. Not knowing how to answer Viola simply thanked.  
She had seen his bed as Cesario but the unconfortable feeling was different: Cesario feared his thoughts would show and Orsino would see his pageboy a little too engaged in imagining what went on his master's bed; now it felt like all those imaginings came back to mock her.  
“My love”, Orsino called as he entered the room.  
She looked at him and not one word came to her. He took her hand and kissed it. Viola could hardly breath. There was a silent question in her husband's eyes but she didn’t know what it was. Did he want her to say something? What did she know of beds except sleeping? What did she know of men except being one part-time? Yes, she supposed she had heard a lot more of men's likes in the last three months than most girls would care for, yet she could deliver none of that. What should she tell her husband?  
“I’m yours, my lord.” That was probably what he was waiting for. As soon as he heard her words, the Duke pulled her against his body and kissed her passionately. This time her tongue went in search of his and they met in desperation. Orsino held her in place with a hand on the nape of her neck and the other on the small of her back. It was a good thing too because Viola wasn’t sure she had any ballance left.  
She gasped in surprise when he picked her up and carried her to bed. Viola was frozen. It was happening and she still felt unprepared. Her husband put her down gently and lay next to her. Now his kisses were deeper and took detours to her earlobes and down her neck. Orsino had a hand on her hip and it drove Viola mad when it went slowly down her tigh. She wanted to run away but she didn’t really remember how. So Orsino grabbed the gown's hem and pulled it up. Viola was surprised at herself who coldn't remember how to protest but had no problem helping the Duke undress her.  
Part of her knew this was the exact opposite of what she was suposed to do but the urge to press her legs together wasn’t a rational decision. Orsino didn’t seem to notice, he cupped her breasts and kissed them repeatedly while his thumbs circled the tips. He went on to suckling a nipple, getting Viola to wriggle beneath him not caring why. She stifled the sounds forming in her throat but they escaped despite her best efforts.  
He went back for her mouth and tongue. Lost in sensation, she kissed back, delivered herself in his hands and let her feet and his twist together.  
She felt cheated when the footplay became his way of prying one leg apart from the other. Then he was on top of her and between her legs, yanking his nightshirt off.  
Cesario had seen Orsino change but wasn’t really allowed to enjoy it. Now she had a full view. So much was happening though that the sight of him was a mere detail.  
Orsino’s next kiss met her lips roughly as if in anger. His tongue pulled hers into his mouth, where it got trapped for a while as Orsino sucked on it. This was little next to what his hands were doing. The one on her breast already had her losing her mind. The one between her legs made the girl freeze again.  
His fingers slid into her, the longest one going all the way up much for Viola's mortification. Was that really what was suposed to go on? His finger came out, and more embarassing than having it pushed in was missing it. If she could rise from the shame which had overcome her, maybe she could ask him not to stop but she had no name for what he did and no desire to make colorful descriptions aloud. Even in thought she lacked the necessary words.  
What touched her next was bigger than a finger. “Are you ready, my love?” her husband whispered in a lower voice than usual. She looked him in the eye and nodded. As his tip touched the entrance she made way for him opening herself a little wider. That's when he got inside her.  
Now it felt much bigger than a finger. Almost unconfortable, almost painful, but as he went back and forth, as he proceeded to kiss her neck and earlobes, a very different kind of almost pain started building in her lower belly. As the sensation swelled it filled her body, burning with every breath, needing--what? She held Orsino’s sides in a tight embrace, closed her eyes and filled her nostrils of his scent, hoping to be consumed by ever increasing fire burning her insides.  
When the heat became even stronger, it escaped her in the form of cries that were responded by the rise in Orsino’s rhythm and whispers that said “beautiful” and “goddess” and for some reason only made her burn hotter. Until it felt more like lightining than fire, except it struck over and over at the same place.  
The lightining surely must've come in the company of rain, for her fire died except for an ember here and there that Orsino either knew about or was very lucky in his blunders to keep finding them. “I love you”, she said as her body relaxed on the matress. Her voice came out lower than she intended, Cesario's voice if he had ever been relaxed in anyone's company. Orsino moaned, changed his rhythm once more, agitating her, the embers risking to rekindle her fire.  
He went for her neck and there was the fire again. It took over faster this time. “Venus” he whispered before getting to her earlobe, which he sucked into his mouth and caressed with his tongue. Bolts of lightining hit her and she couldn’t hide it if she wanted. “My love”, he whispered.  
“My lord!” Viola cried out.  
She melted in his arms breathing fast and unable to keep up. It wasn’t long before Orsino moaned into her mouth and stopped. He was off her and on his back, catching his breath. When he turned on his side, facing Viola, she came closer.  
Orsino kissed her lightly and played with her hair. They seemed to be going backwards now in their dance steps, Viola observed. And then laughed at herself. Dance steps!  
“What’s so funny?” Orsino asked.  
“The ways of life and love”, she answered using Sebastian’s words without thinking. Noticing what she had done, Viola laughed at herself a little more. “It was a fine dance, I believe”, she declared between chuckles.  
“Dance?” Orsino repeated, confused. Something about her eyes clearly showed what she meant, because his lit up with understanding and he too laughed. “Is this our dance? I love dancing with you”. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep.  
*  
Waking up first allowed Viola to watch her husband, who snored lightly and looked peaceful. When his breath changed and his face contorted she wondered if it was best to wake him up. Before she could, he got more agitated.  
“Cesario!” he called out. That's what woke him. He looked confused but smiled when his eyes found Viola. “My love!” he sighed in relief.  
“Here I am”, she promptly answered.  
“I had a dream but now its memory escapes me”, he told Viola.  
“All’s well, husband, you can return to your dream if you want”, she promised.  
“No, I preffer your company”, he decided sitting up. “My dance partner”, he added with a playful smile.  
"Did you have a nightmare?" Viola insisted. "I think I did ", he admited. "What was it about?" "You. Leaving me", he confessed.  
"What did I look like in your dream?" she pressed. "It hardly matters", Orsino tried to evade. "It matters to me", she told him.  
"Fine", he gave in annoyed. "You looked like Cesario", he confessed.  
"I'm not so sure Cesario can leave", she revealed. "What do you mean?" he questioned.  
"I've always been Viola and something that wasn't Viola. I had many fears of that something, that I was being childish, that I was possessed. But here in Illyria that something got the name Cesario and was loved and cared for. He became stronger and more confident but not independent. Where Viola is, so is Cesario."  
"I'm glad I have the rest of our lives together to make sense of that", Orsino nodded. After a short moment he tried the names : "Viola and Cesario. If you're both, you're not she, nor he, you're they", he concluded.  
"I feel like they."  
*  
Sebastian came to see his sister in the morning. They’d agreed to come in the evening, but here he was, alone. Viola was immediately wary, Cesario withdrew. When they were finally seated, Orsino left them to “make up for the lost time”, as he said.  
“Is anything wrong, brother?” she studied his face.  
“Wrong?” he laughed. “How can anything be wrong right now?”  
“You’re very early”, she observed.  
Sebastian both smiled and frowned. “So you'd be fine that all of our conversations from now on happened in company of our spouses?” Of course not! Both she and Cesario shouted internally. “Oh, my! You didn’t even think of that, did you?” he read her wide eyes.  
“I missed you, brother”, she said in a breaking voice going to his arms. “And I you”, he hugged back. After one afectionate moment of silence, Sebastian's voice became playful: “I bet you've missed... The serpent!” he shouted the last word as he constricted her to his smothering hug. “No!” she laughed. And then attacked: “Bed bugs!” she tickled him.  
They both had tears after so much laughter when they let go of each other. But it was just too soon. “I’ve learned something, let me show you”, and she went on to twist his arm like Rinaldi once taught Cesario. “Mercy, Viola!” Sebastian sounded horrified. “Let go!” She did.  
“Who would show you something like that?” Sebastian was outraged. Viola on the other hand had a proud look to her face. “You said 'mercy', I win!” she gloated.  
“Why do you know this?” Viola couldn’t tell if her brother was angry or concerned. “I was a pageboy”, she reminded him. “Men taught Cesario men's things.”  
Sebastian was clearly displeased. “You’ve been treated and spoken to like a man all this time? It must’ve been so demeaning!” “Demeaning?” Viola laughed at the absurdity of it. “I think you lack imagination, brother.”  
“Well, your boyish days are over now, right?” Sebastian sounded just a little too glad as he spoke. She turned her back on him. “What’s wrong?” he was confused.  
“You’re my favorite person, brother, why do you do this?” “Do what?” he was genuinely confused. “Dismiss a part of me that you don’t understand. It hurts coming from the person who knows me best.”  
“Are you crying?” he walked around to face her. “Please don’t cry. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“I didn’t pretend to be Cesario. I am Cesario!” they lost control of their voice.  
“Hush, sister!” he soothed. “I don’t think I can understand, as much as I want to. But I don’t need to understand to love you.” “But you keep saying those things”, they pointed out in a weak voice. “What things?” their brother asked in a comforting tone.  
“That my boyish days are over, that I'm not suposed to know and enjoy boy's things. I'm a boy too!”  
“But you’re a woman, the rest is childish fantasy. I'm sure now you’re married it'll fade away”, he hoped.  
“No!” Viola cried. “How is that love, Sebastian? I need you of all people to see the real me! Please, listen”.  
“Is Cesario the real you?” he doubted.  
“You think I'm just Viola, the people in Illyria thought I was just Cesario. I'm always both. Even if I look more like one than the other, I'm always both. When I'm not both, I'm ill.”  
Sebastian looked them in the eye clearly uncomfortable. He held their hands in his, which were bigger and steadier. “I don't think I'll ever understand”, he insisted. “But I do love you, Viola”, he kissed their cheek. “And I...”, he hesitated, “love you too, Cesario”, he kissed the other one. The name felt uncomfortable in his lips. He tried it again: “Cesario.” That’s when he noticed their tears. “I’m so sorry, I don’t want to hurt you anymore, but I can’t get my head around this. Please, don’t resent me.”  
“Thank you for making the effort”, they hugged him. “I’d do anything for you, my twin”, Sebastian sighed. “My twin!” Viola echoed smiling. Don't you love it? They thought to themself, not sister, not brother, but twin. Yes, I love it.  
*  
It was the most beautiful dress Viola had ever worn, and made in one night. The seamstresses were exaustedly proud. And they had good reason for that. Once dressed, Viola asked to be left for a while. There was something impossible to share with those women and that needed a solution.  
As beautiful as the dress was, it made them look like a woman. Now what could be done about that? Maybe there was some finishing touch that could solve it. But everything was too feminine in that room. Cesario’s clothes were impossible to match with such a fine dress.  
Well, maybe it was fine to look like a woman for the evening. Sure some satisfaction could be had from looking beautiful even if incomplete. The look in Orsino’s face was sure to make it worth it. So where was him?  
He wasn’t in his rooms but his clothes for the evening were already out, aired and brushed. His colors matched the dress, and the fabric was just as fine. It became irresistable. They took the doublet and put their arms through the sleeves.  
It was obviously too many sizes too big but they still went to the looking glass. No hands were visible and its hem was almost past their knees. Like a child in a grown up's attire. They giggled. A twirl ending in a manly stance, the reflection showed. They laughed. Someone else laughed behind their back.  
“If you wear that this evening, I don’t think I'll be presentable”, he said with a huge smile on his face, as he aproached Viola with much intention.  
His hands cupped their face and lifted it for his kiss. It began as a touch of the lips but neither one pulled away or stopped it. So Orsino freed their face and placed his hands on their hips, while his tongue swirled Viola’s and their hands felt the hardness of his body muscles through his clothes.  
He grabbed one of the hands in his and pulled its owner towards the bedroom. “I can't”, they told him stifling a laugh. “This dress takes too much work to be put on.”  
Orsino groaned and took a step back. “You’d be out of it in a second if I ripped it off", he offered as he helped his wife out his doublet. Once he could see how the dress fit, though, the surprise and aproval were written on his face. “How do you do it?” His eyes never left the cleavege. “Do what? Wear a corset?” He shook his head but still didn’t look them in the eye. “You’re making me uncomfortable”, they let him know.  
His eyes finally met theirs. “It’s a show of apreciation”, he explained himself, smiling but took another step back. Now he didn’t look anywhere but the eyes. “Is everyone going to stare at me like that?” they worried.  
“I should hope not. Otherwise I’ll be too tired from breaking noses to enjoy when that thing comes off”, he meant the dress, they saw in his eyes. Viola blushed. “Yes”, he laughed, “I love that color.”  
“I need to leave”, they decided. “I think you do”, Orsino agreed sounding thoroughly amused.  
So, yes, they’d be a girl for the evening. No. A woman, they reminded themself. A Duchess.  
And people did stare. Maybe not quite like Orsino had but still those were stares. For some reason they were uncomfortable but didn’t make them guilty like the looks from the staff last evening and their confusion ever since. They'd been friends with Cesario and now felt like he was lost, replaced with some mistress who knew them in their worse and about whom they knew nothing.  
Sebastian too received a lot of stares from the second he and Olivia arrived. He looked very surprised at his twin and said: “You look beautiful, Viola!” but when he held them, he whispered conspiratorially: “You look like a girl.” They giggled in response. “A woman”, they corrected. And for some reason Sebastian blushed.  
“You really do look beautiful, sister”, Olivia said before kissing her twice. “Not many women can honestly say they look well no matter what they're wearing.” “Thank you, sister, you look lovely yourself”, Viola answered. “Your smile becomes you, as colors do.” Olivia’s smile became wider if that was possible.  
Antonio greeted them formally, but later joked there was now no mistaking Cesario for Rodorigo. “Who’s Rodorigo?” they asked him, remebering instantly why the name went so well wih Cesario. “That’s what your brother told me his name was”, Antonio laughed.  
“We saw a comedy before boarding the ship”, they told him. “When the comedians realized they had twins in their audience, they played the story of Cesario and Rodorigo, twins separated at birth, who happen upon the same city one day and cause much trouble. Even a mixed up wedding.”  
“How profetical!” Antonio laughed. “And to imagine you two thought of the same when you needed new names, and yet not the same at all.”  
“Rodorigo was gentle and unasuming, Cesario, fiery and cocky. In the play, I mean”, Viola told him. “I supose it suited both your needs. Not being seen or only letting them see what you want”, Sebastian's friend concluded.  
There was no time to wonder why he sounded so much like he knew a lot about letting people only see what he wanted. They’d been talking for too long and the greatest proof of that was Orsino’s aproach. He looked friendly enough and his words polite but he steered Viola away from Antonio in the course of five sentences. He didn’t coment on what he was doing or why he did it.  
They danced with Orsino and then Sebastian, and Orsino again. After a while, though, they went to a balcony for some rest and found Olivia. “Why are you standing here all by yourself, sister?”  
“Probably for the same reason as you. To get a minute away from their talk”, the countess confessed.  
“I haven’t even gotten around to that yet, to be honest”, Viola told her. “The blessings of a hostess”, Olivia declared.  
Then came an awkward silence neither knew how to fill. Viola was the first to speak: “I believe I have something that belongs to you.” “Me?” the countess was confused. “Please, come this way”, Viola took her hand.  
Once in Viola’s sitting room, they showed Olivia the ring and locket she'd given Cesario. “These were mine”, Olivia recognized the objects. “But I gave them away to a young man who pulled me out of my grief and back to life.”  
“But...”, Viola didn’t know how to express their confusion. “Sebastian?”  
“I have different gifts for him. And it still feels like very little in exchange for a brother. I should give you much more.”  
They looked confused at Olivia, who just smiled and kissed her cheek. “I’ll find something”, she promised. “But these presents are Cesario’s for a good reason. Let them be a reminder of his existence, even if you look so wonderful as just Viola.”  
“Oh, Olivia! You really are perfect!” Viola gushed. It was just what she'd been looking for earlier. “Perfect? Where did you get this notion?” their sister-in-law laughed gently.  
“Just a few hours ago I was trying to find some outward reminder of who I am that wouldn’t ruin my looks. And now you give me this solution.”  
“Rings as solution, that’s a little fantastic, don’t you think?” Olivia smiled. “Isn’t our story?” Viola debated.  
Another silent moment came, this time less awkward, and ended by Olivia: “What did you and Sebastian talk about this morning?” “Everything”, Viola didn’t want to go into details.  
“Everything was too much for him”, she informed. “He came home distraught, shut himself up for an hour and I'm sure he was crying, though he wouldn’t tell me what had happened”.  
Viola sighed. “I told him I've always been and will be Cesario as much as Viola”, they confessed looking for the reaction on her face. It was blank. “I supose it can be confusing”, Olivia conceded. “But you must understand my concern, he left cheerful, saying he needed to tell you all that’s happened to him and know of your adventures; and came back dark and silent like an impending storm”.  
“I’m sorry to hear it.” Viola didn’t know what else to say. “But it was needed.” “We should go back”, Olivia reminded them.  
*  
It didn’t take long to Orsino walk in on them in Cesario’s attires, looking at the mirror and practcing manly gestures. He didn’t control his laughter. It hurt.  
“I thought there was something wrong that you didn’t leave your room”, he explained himself. “Good to see you’re well.”  
Viola didn’t know what to say. They waited for him to tell them all the things that Sebastian would but it didn’t happen like that. Instead he took a seat and kept smiling. They walked up to him and took a seat.  
“You really are convincing no matter what you wear”, he finally said. “Do you think the staff will be pleased to see you as they've known you?”  
Was he sugesting that they left in those clothes? Their heart raced. Even if he didn’t mean it, it was more than Sebastian had ever been able to stand.  
“I think Valentine might've been right all along”, they told him instead. And in response to Orsino’s furrowed brows added: “We are soulmates”.  
“He said that, did he?” Orsino sounded surprised.  
“When I told him I liked the poem you threw away”, they added.  
“You did?” his surprise was much clearer now. “I told you I did”, they insisted. “That’s what everybody says but actually liking isn’t that common”, Orsino explained his disbilief.  
“Well, I really did!” they insisted.  
“Then maybe Valentine knows more about matchmaking than anybody gives him credit for”, Orsino concluded. “Maybe”, they agreed.  
After a second of silence Orsino changed the subject: “So I guess those clothes aren’t really difficult to come on and off?” He waited for them to grasp his meaning.  
“What are you sugesting?” they smiled wantonly at him.  
“The love of your equals, Cesario”, he answered laughing at his own joke. “I’ve never been your equal... Master”.  
“I see you may have daydreamed during this lesson”, he went on joking. “But this one topic I can tell you about myself”. He took their hand and led the way to the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say that the bit about Orsino's boots is inspired on a story my grandpa would tell of his youth and how you couldn't get riding boots off by yourself  
> I also want to say that long ago when I was 11 year-old girl dressed like a boy watching Twelfth Night at theater, the actor who played Orsino was directed in a way he always had his hands on Cesario and this deeply influences my text  
> I've also found out that if you read Rinaldi (my OC) as Puss in Boots it fits perfectly but it wasn't intentional


End file.
